


Cygnus

by SapphyreLily



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College AU, Gen, I got fed up and removed all the friendship tags, M/M, Slow Burn, Starting Over, Tags Will be Updated as I Update, Y'all can just assume there are friendship ties between all mentioned characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8845870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: A new city, a new start."Shirabu?"Or perhaps, learning to harmonise.[Alternatively: Coexistence And Maybe More With An Old Rival]





	1. Welcome To New York

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a _long_ piece, with each chapter inspired by a different Taylor Swift song. Aka the longest sort-of songfic I have ever planned. Hopefully I don't disappoint!

It’s sunset, by the time the train pulls into the station, the sky turning red and orange and gold, light searing his retinas. The brunet turns away from the window, gaze settling on the empty seat in front of him, and takes a deep breath.

He exhales, the action forcibly clearing his mind, just like it did back in the days that he was the official setter of Shiratorizawa.

A new city, a new start.

The train comes to a smooth halt, and he picks up his overnight bag, lining up to exit with the other passengers.

A new city, with new faces and new sights to see, new experiences to layer over and cover the old.

He checks the metaphorical box where he keeps unwanted memories, then locks it and throws away the key.

He steps out of the train, into the bustling station.

x.x.x.x.x

It is nightfall by the time he reaches the university, and he wastes a good half hour arguing with the dorm master before his room key is huffily turned over to him.

His room is empty – his roommate has not arrived yet – so he picks a bed and flops onto it, regretting his action the moment he inhales dust.

He sits up and begins unpacking as minimally as he can, throwing fresh sheets onto the mattress and setting out his shoes and a set of clothes for the morrow.

A quick shower later, the lights are off and he is fast asleep.

He does not hear the door creak open.

x.x.x.x.x

He dreams.

He dreams of the city that his eyes glazed over on his commute to the university, tall skyscrapers and reflective windows, small 24/7 convenience stores and bustling crowds with their heads ducked, eyes glued to their phones. He dreams of large commercials splashed across buildings, of subway stations so long and winding that he needs to ask for directions. He dreams of the rows of vending machines by the road, the mouth-watering smell of food wafting from the open door of a ramen bar.

He dreams of wandering through a city which does not know his name, where he is anonymous and just another body in the crowd.

When he wakes, he recalls nothing but a sense of excitement and anticipation, of an urge to get to his feet and get lost in the maze of a new place.

He sees the lump in the next bed, but the covers are tugged over the person’s head, so he doesn’t bother to pry. He throws on a fresh set of clothes and grabs what he needs instead, determined to finish his module registration early so that he can go explore.

x.x.x.x.x

He wakes slowly, awareness slowly trickling in, spurred by the jostling of his roommate. A soft click tells him that his roommate has left, so he relaxes into the bed, sleep claiming him once more.

x.x.x.x.x

_“Yo. How are things?”_

“I got here literally twelve hours ago, Taichi. Stop acting like a worried parent.”

_“You’re practically across the country. Of course I worry.”_

“There you go again.” Shirabu rolls his eyes, though his best friend can’t see him. “I’ll be fine. We’ve all been to Tokyo before.”

_“Not on your own though.”_

“Stop being such a mom. I can take care of myself just fine.”

Kawanishi's voice becomes even flatter as he recites reminders like a well-worn mantra. _“Make sure you look both ways before you cross the road. Drink hot water when you wake up, it’s good for digestion. Don’t leave your hair to air dry unless you want to catch a cold–”_

“Goodbye.” Shirabu clicks the ‘End Call' button with a hint of amusement, cutting off his monotonous droning. A tendril of warmth unfurls in his chest, even as he tucks his phone into his pocket and unlocks his dorm room, stepping in with a habitual _I’m home_.

He does not expect the _Welcome back_ from the other side of the room.

He looks up, and freezes.

The person – his roommate? His roommate! – glances up from the book in his hands, eyes drifting back down before he does a double take, a spasm running through his entire body.

“Shirabu?”

In the back of his mind, the box of unwanted memories rattles.

He closes his mouth, swallowing his panic and schooling his features into cool detachment. “Semi-san.”

Semi's eyes flicker between him and his neatly made bed, marred only by his pyjama top flung atop it. He gapes for a long while before spluttering, “ _You’re_ my roommate?”

“So it would seem.”

His senior finally closes his mouth, glaring at his sheets like it is their fault that Shirabu exists. “Right. Okay.”

Shirabu walks over to his bed, sitting delicately atop it, and begins to fold his pyjama top. He has to swallow a few times before he is sure that his voice will remain steady. “We can ask for a transfer, if the thought of rooming with me is so abhorrent–”

 _“No.”_ He looks up at the force behind the word, sees Semi run a hand over his face. “No,” he repeats, more quietly. “It’s okay, I’ll live.”

Shirabu doesn’t say anything, but steps off his bed to unpack his luggage.

He hears the sound of a page flipping, assumes his roommate – oh god, his _roommate_ – has started reading again, and mentally prepares himself for the longest year of his life.

“So, uh…”

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

“Yes, Semi-san?”

A pause.

“What does ‘abhorrent’ mean?”

Shirabu almost couldn’t resist the urge to insult him.

x.x.x.x.x

“Shirabu?”

“Yes, Semi-san.”

“Where did you go to register for classes?”

“You’re a second year, shouldn’t you know where to go–”

“First year.”

“What?”

He heard wrongly, right?

“I’m a first year,” Semi repeats, head held high despite the colour in his cheeks. “I wasn’t in a college prep class, I could only make it in this year.”

Funny, how his old memories match up with what’s in front of him, despite the obvious maw between them.

He manages to mute his scoff – or not, from the tightening around Semi's mouth – and rises to his feet nonchalantly. “I’ll take you there.”

His roommate stares, as if he has grown a second head.

He scowls and scoops up his phone and wallet. “I said I’ll take you there. Hurry up, before it closes.”

“It’s only eleven,” Semi points out, but scrambles after him, the room door shutting behind them with a _click._

They walk in silence, though the campus is buzzing around them, students waking up, talking, laughing, socialising with each other. It’s a pleasant type of background noise, the sort that he can blend into, that he can wrap around himself like a cloak and use as a disguise.

Semi is quiet beside him, and for some reason, it builds a tension in his heart that he can’t quell. He can barely look at him though he desperately wants to peek, holding himself rigidly forward.

He’s infinitely relieved when they reach the academic office, waving towards it while stepping away. “Here you go. I’ll be taking my leave–”

“Don’t you need to register as well?”

Shirabu doesn’t bother to hide his eye roll. “I did mine earlier. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He pushes away, does not make eye contact, and does not turn back.

He feels a tiny bit guilty for being rude when Semi had been mostly civil, but crushes the emotion beneath his foot.

He has better things to do than worry what his senior thinks.

x.x.x.x.x

Semi grumbles to himself.

He complains in his mind throughout the registration process, only pausing to converse with the nice staff, and promptly resumes his griping after exiting the office.

If he could see him now, Tendou would–

No, not going there.

He looks up and drinks in his surroundings, wilting when he realises he has no idea where he is.

He should have spent more time watching where he was going earlier.

There is a map near him, so he examines it, noting where he is and planning where to go next. He is bound to get lost again, but he needs to familiarise himself with the area anyway.

He wanders, gets lost, retraces his steps and makes new paths. He explores and memorises and examines his surroundings, but mostly he walks, and walks and walks.

It is late afternoon by the time he gets back to the dorms, and his throat is parched, the only liquid he has drunk all day the water stolen from water coolers he passes. He thinks himself lucky that he hasn’t passed out, considering that he hasn’t eaten anything all day.

He unlocks his room door, hoping to find an empty room and the peace of solitude, but finds himself staring for the second time that day.

Shirabu is taking a nap.

On _his_ bed.

Semi adds it to his list of gripes about one Shirabu Kenjirou, trudging over to swipe his water bottle from his bag.

First, water. And the bathroom. The Irritating Kouhai can wait.

x.x.x.x.x

Shirabu thinks he’s dreaming.

It’s fuzzy but bright, a kaleidoscope of feelings rushing through him as he navigates the unfamiliar, yet nostalgic surroundings.

A cheerful laugh, feet pattering away. A tender hand clasping his. His cheek pressed against a warm chest, a laugh huffed out over his hair.

It’s soft and warm and _loving_ , and it makes his heart ache.

The feeling remains even as he swims back into consciousness, eyes flitting open and slowly taking in the yellow glow of a lamp illuminating a figure across the room from him.

He smiles involuntarily, eyes sliding shut again at the familiar sight. The pillow beneath his head smells like passionfruit and salt, and he burrows into it, sighing in contentment.

It’s familiar and comforting and–

His eyes fly open, horror freezing his muscles.

Semi regards him coolly from his place on _his_ bed, then snaps his book shut and swings his legs off it. “Do you want to get dinner?”

The question takes a moment to register, but he takes his time to stretch and panic instead of replying.

_Is he going to mock me? Is he going to yell at me? Is he going to ask why I’m sleeping on his bed?_

Semi looks mildly irritated by his lack of response, but says nothing. Shirabu hides his smile.

“Sure.”

x.x.x.x.x

They end up at a small ramen shop just outside the school, and the food is so bad that Shirabu has to mentally prepare himself for each bite. He doesn’t say anything about it while they’re still in the shop, but the moment they exit, he groans.

Semi laughs, and he’s so startled that he stops and stares.

The ash blond grins at him, saying, “That bad, huh?” Then, with his head tilted back to regard the streetlights, “I thought it was pretty disgusting too.”

Shirabu says nothing for a long moment. He looks down the street, where the main road leads to more shops, and makes an offer of his own. “Ice cream?”

It’s Semi’s turn to stare, before he returns with a tentative, “Sure.”

They wander down to the main street, past residential blocks and stores close to closing, past bright arcades and bars opening their doors. They pace down different side alleys, backtracking too many times, but they still can’t find a proper ice cream parlour.

“Hey.”

Shirabu stops and glares, because they’ve been walking for far too long and he’s cold and tired. “What.”

Semi points across the street. “I’ll buy you a drink. We can go into the city and get proper ice cream tomorrow.”

“What defines proper ice cream?” He mutters, but gestures for him to go ahead.

“A parfait? A sundae? Soft serve? Ice lollies? Crepes?”

Shirabu snorts. “Half of those don’t count.”

“What?”

“Crepes aren’t ice cream. Ice lollies are ice, not cream.”

“Stop confusing me,” Semi grumbles, turning to tap the plastic window on the machine. “Pick a drink.”

Shirabu eyes the vending machine drinks with disdain, but points to a yogurt drink anyway.

He sips delicately from the bottle as he waits for Semi to get his own drink, squinting up at the sky. He hears him come to stand by him, but does not look, instead choosing to search for the stars that had been so bright back in Miyagi.

It is a long moment before either of them speak, the silence punctuated only by sips and the sound of their breathing.

“I can’t see the stars.”

Semi puffs out his cheeks, smiling wryly at his tea. “Yeah. You get used to it.”

He feels more than sees Shirabu turn to him, expects the demand he hears.

“What?”

He doesn’t answer at first, tilting his head back to stare at the dark sky, the glow of the stores and streetlamps lighting up his periphery. “I’ve lived in Tokyo for a year already. It’s still weird not to be able to see the stars, but you learn to make do with the city lights.”

Shirabu doesn’t say anything, but Semi can feel the weight of his stare. He turns to him with a crooked smile and says, “We should head back.”

He walks ahead, and Shirabu follows without a word.

He’s not sure if he should feel disappointed that he didn’t ask more.

x.x.x.x.x

“Why are we here?” Shirabu asks.

(He does not whine.)

(…maybe just a little.)

Semi scoffs and walks faster, throwing a smirk over his shoulder. Half if it is lost in his scarf, but Shirabu sees red anyway.

“I said we would find proper ice cream, and Roppongi is full of desserts.”

“Do you know where to find it, then?” Shirabu shivers, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You seem lost.”

“Correction: _we_ are lost.”

It takes a moment for that to sink in.

Shirabu takes a deep breath – before deciding that it is not worth it.

“ _Are you serious?!”_

He thinks he can hear his voice echo.

Semi sheepishly picks up his pace, eyes glued to his phone. “Google maps is a bitch.”

“You just can’t read maps.”

“Then _you_ navigate.”

“ _You_ got us lost!”

“Two heads are better than one, isn’t that what they say?” Semi turns around and shoves his phone into Shirabu’s hand. “Go ahead. Navigate.”

The brunet glares and grumbles, but examines the map anyway. Two minutes later, they set off in a completely different direction, and reach their destination within ten minutes.

“Thank you.”

It’s soft and sincere, but Shirabu has rarely ever been able to contain his mouth.

“No thanks to you.”

He isn’t looking, but he sees Semi freeze up in his periphery, before the phone is snatched away and his figure stalks ahead. Shirabu feels a stab of guilt, but his pride refuses to let him speak.

He finds Semi hunched over an interactive map, looking through the levels of the mall before he spins around to look for the shops.

“Found it,” he announces, tugging Shirabu’s sleeve in the correct direction as he passes by. “It’s not ice cream, but they have good desserts.”

Shirabu manages to bite back his retort this time.

He is faced with cakes of different sizes and flavours, each more appealing than the last. He hears Semi ordering, and suddenly he is being ushered to a seat in the corner, the ash blond across from him.

“I ordered the mini cakes. You’ll get to try each flavour.”

“…oh.”

“What, did you want something else?” Semi looks up from the menu he’s studying, his expression too stiff to be nonchalant. “You can order your own, if those aren’t enough.”

“I’ll get a coffee or something,” he announces, pushing away from the table.

Semi says nothing, flipping the page very, very slowly.

Shirabu refuses to pay any heed to it.

(The lock is shaking loose on his unwanted memories box, and he doesn’t like it.)

x.x.x.x.x

“Those were nice cakes.”

It’s said softly, in the tight squeeze of the train, almost lost in the stuffy air between them.

Semi’s frown melts a little, a tiny sigh escaping him.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t ice cream.”

Shirabu doesn’t reply, but he thinks he sees him shakes his head ever so slightly.

It’s neither here nor there, but he feels a little less upset.

x.x.x.x.x

It’s sunset, by the time they alight near the university. They had somehow spent the day travelling from place to place in the bustle of the city, searching for ‘proper ice cream’ but ending up meandering through the crowd, clutching at each other’s sleeves to stay together.

There are less cars on the road, the streetlights beginning to flicker on, the working adults winding their way into the subway to head home. Everyone’s head is lowered, eyes not meeting each other’s, all focused on their destination.

It’s a little sad, a little worrying, a little…lost.

“Do you think,” he begins, and feels the other turn to him, “That that will be us some day? Mindless drones, slogging away in offices, returning to the nest at night, and repeating it all the next day?”

His companion exhales lightly, turns to face the front. “I don’t doubt it.”

“But,” he tilts his head to look at him, “I hope not. After all,” he continues, “Isn’t that why we left Miyagi? To find our fortunes in the big city?”

He gapes a little, then lets out a tiny huff of laughter.

“Maybe you’re right.”

There is a tranquil silence between them, the soft scuffing of their shoes and the crunch of gravel.

“Do you think,” he starts again, “That it’s too bright here?”

The pause is longer this time, the thought mulled over and fermented before voice is given to it.

“It’s the city.” He’s torn between laughter and tears at the blatant obviousness of it. “It’s supposed to be bright. But _because_ it’s the city,” he tilts his head back to regard the clouds, “The lights trap you on earth, and your goal is no longer the unseen stars.”

He thinks that makes an odd kind of sense.

Maybe it’s the many desserts they ingested that day.

“As long as we remember the stars exist, right?” He takes his turn to look at the darkening sky. “As long as you know where the stars are, the city lights _can’t_ blind you.”

A low laugh, a soft smile.

“Remember that for the long run.”

Then they’re back at their dorm room, cold hands fumbling for keys, pushing open into the musty air.

They go through their nighttime routines in silence, each lost in his own world.

“Hey, Shirabu?”

The veil of peace parts, like a head breaking the surface of water.

“Yes, Semi-san?”

“How about a truce? We’re going to be stuck together for a year, after all.”

Shirabu thinks about it. It’s an opportunity to draw the curtains on his unwanted memories for good, and he’d be daft not to accept.

An opportunity to give up past hurts. An opportunity to start anew. An opportunity to relearn things, to adapt more quickly, to keep his temper in check.

An opportunity that he came to the city for.

“Yes, Semi-san. I’d like that.”

They share a smile as an agreement, and turn out the lights.

Outside, the city lights shine bright, masking the glow of the stars.


	2. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of college, and the making of new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned to post this before the year ended but well... Oops.
> 
> This got long omg

The hallway is glowing with a soft white light, the doors to the lecture theatres ajar. There are too many students in the corridor, all waiting around, procrastinating until the bell rings.

Shirabu looks at the signs next to the doors, desperately searching for the room he needs.

_67, 36, 18, 91..._

_Shit, shit, shit. Where is 50?!_

The numbers are a jumble, randomly mashed up and placed side by side. He checks his watch. Five minutes till class starts.

The numbers on the rooms have not changed, nor is there anything remotely close to the number he needs in sight. He panics, and joins the crowd for lecture theatre 60, because _if you can’t find what you need, then go for the next closest_.

But instead of chairs and tables in the theatre, there are giant transparent hamster balls, and each of the people around him are climbing into one, as if it is a normal occurrence.

_What the hell,_ he thinks, but moves over to a ball, peering up at it and wondering where the entrance is.

There’s a sharp _click-click_ as the professor taps a long candy cane on the board, and Shirabu looks at him in horror. He’s the only one not in a hamster ball.

Abruptly, everyone – including the professor – rolls through the wall, into the field, and he scrambles to chase after them.

He smacks into the wall instead of phasing through it like they had, and runs back to the lone hamster ball in the room, staring up at it in frustration.

There is no opening. It is perfectly smooth and round – has it turned into a glass ball? – and there is no way he can get into it.

He turns and runs out of the classroom.

A left turn and straight ahead should lead him to the field exit, but instead he finds himself in a clothing store, children’s clothes stretching out for miles around him.

He turns around, but comes face to face with a rack of jeans. To his left is the escalator, and he sprints for it, taking the steps two at a time.

_Surely, surely there must be a way out._

The upper floor is full of lingerie.

He turns in circles to avoid looking at the masses of lace and bright colours, a glass door catching his eye. He runs for it, pushing open and out into an aquarium.

He is in an underground tunnel, jellyfish around him.

There is a travellator belt under his feet, and he moves with it, hoping that it would lead out.

He passes by sharks and sunken ships, Moray eels and beds of coral, the sun shining bright and clear though the water. A shoal of fish passes overhead, and when he next blinks, they are paper airplanes, the ink running off their wings.

He breaks into a run, desperate now for a way out.

_I need to get back to school. I’m definitely late._

_I’m going to die, I’m going to die, the professor is going to kill me._

He trips and sinks into quicksand, the light shutting out overhead, his breathing shallow for fear of swallowing the sand.

There’s a little beeping somewhere, but he’s panicking, he _can’t breathe._

“Shirabu.”

That voice is familiar, but damnit, he can’t breathe, it’s so dark, which way is up–

_“Shirabu.”_

Familiar, familiar, familiar. Someone that yells at him constantly, someone who he feels he should know–

“Shirabu, awaken.”

He huffs out a breath, eyes peeling open to squint at a very annoyed ash blond.

Oh, it’s just Semi.

“Go away,” he grumbles, turning over to face the wall.

“It’s 7.30am and your class is at 8, all the way across campus.”

A deep breath.

_“GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED THIS INSTANT OR BE LATE, SEE IF I CARE!”_

Shirabu flips over and glares at him, eyes drifting to the clock on his bedside table.

7.30A.M.

He blinks once, panic freezing his muscles, his gaze zeroing in on the glowing numbers.

_7.30?!_

He flings his blanket off, tripping on his way out of bed, almost bumping into his roommate, sliding and fumbling out of their room to the communal bathrooms.

_Oh shit, oh shit._

_I’m going to be late._

He has forgotten his toothbrush, and runs back to the room, only to see Semi holding out his bag of toiletries with a disapproving look. “You’d best hurry,” he tells him, and Shirabu snatches the bag without a word of thanks.

By the time he returns to the room, Semi is gone.

But on his bed are a fresh set of clothes – a plain T-shirt and his oldest jeans – and a Post-It that says, _Granola bar in your bag, filled your water bottle too._

He huffs and changes quickly – his head gets stuck and he can’t seem to find the right holes for his arms – grabs his bag and runs out of the room, cursing in frustration when it won’t lock properly.

He charges out of the dorm, sees the shuttle bus arrive, and sprints like the hounds of hell are after him.

By the time he slumps into a seat on the bus and unwraps the promised granola bar – _honey and oats, how did he know?_ – he feels as exhausted as that time he had to set for Goshiki for five hours.

It’s 7.55am by the time the bus reaches his faculty, and he jumps off, checking directions as minimally as he can while hunting down the correct lecture theatre.

LT 50 is exactly where he remembered it to be (he thanks every god he remembers, including some fictitious ones), so he slips in and takes a seat in the second row, next to someone doodling in his notebook.

He exhales deeply, slumping in his seat and pulling out his water bottle.

A sip later, the bottle is at an arm’s length from him, an affronted glare directed at it before he dares to peek in.

Two lemon slices bob innocently on the surface of the water.

He glares at them for a while longer, takes a long draw and caps the bottle, grumbling to himself as he takes out his stationery.

“You would’ve thought the bottle offended you, from how hard you were staring at it,” the doodler drawls, head on hand. His expression grates on Shirabu’s nerves, though he can’t explain why.

He snorts and gives him his most unimpressed look. “You would too if you discovered your roommate stuck lemons in your water.”

“I’d be grateful, actually.” The brunet twirls his pen, catching it smoothly and grinning. (That grin looks familiar as well, and he doesn’t understand why. Have they met before?) “My roommate is absolutely useless. He’s too uninspired to do anything. If I managed to get him to do something other than playing video games, I’d be amazed.”

“Let’s swap then.” Shirabu drops his head onto the table, refusing to look at him now that suspicion is taking root in his mind. “Mine is such a mom. As if I need _another_ mom.”

“Would you really?” The other sounds way too eager for comfort, and Shirabu eyes him uneasily. “I’d like a roommate who cared that much. I wouldn’t be late for class ever if I had a roommate like that.”

The professor calls for their attention then, giving Shirabu an out from the conversation, and he turns to the front with a heavy sigh.

It is going to be a long day.

x.x.x.x.x

Semi gulps the remainder of his tea, tossing the Styrofoam cup into the bin and adjusting the strap of his bag.

He's early, but he's afraid of walking into the building, afraid of who he might find.

A minute has passed by the time he musters up his courage, schools his face into a neutral mask, and steps in.

Unfamiliar faces greet him, and while some people turn to look, no-one really stares for long. He picks the left side of the corridor to walk on, winding his way through the crowd, eyes looking for signs to guide him to his classroom.

He thinks he spots a few familiar faces in the crowd, but studiously ignores them, walking calmly with his gaze trained forward. If they want to talk to him, they can make the first move.

He slips into class without fanfare, picking a corner near the middle of the room as his seat. There is already someone in that corner, and he politely asks if he can take the seat next to them.

The person looks up from beneath their hair, nodding shortly. They do not bother to look again, eyes fixed on their game even as Semi starts pulling out various pieces of stationery.

There aren’t that many people in this class, though he still tries to catalogue them as they come in. He knows this is a first-year module, so the rest of his classmates would be a year younger than him. He tries not to let the thought get to him.

“You're Shiratorizawa's pinch server, aren’t you?”

It’s soft, almost inaudible, but Semi freezes anyway, slowly turning to eye his tablemate.

“Yes…?” He still doesn’t recognise them – him? – but he must be a volleyball player of high calibre if he has played against Shiratorizawa before.

Shit, didn’t he come to Tokyo to escape his memories in Miyagi?

The other lifts cat-like eyes to meet his, his gaze intense. “We didn’t play against you.”

Semi blinks, and smiles wryly, despite himself. “Then how do you recognise me?”

The other drops his gaze, fixated on his game once more. “Shouyou mentioned your powerful serves. He said they looked as powerful as Oikawa-san's.”

Oikawa. The name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, as does the observation that his serves _look_ as powerful. He knows that’s all they are – they look strong, but are still sorely lacking.

(He hopes he’s not wearing his Tendou-proclaimed sour look.)

(He needs to stop thinking about Tendou.)

The other has looked up again, head tilted. “Shouyou said that Goshiki said you set well.”

Goshiki. Overenthusiastic, eager-to-please Goshiki. Of course he’d say that, because Shirabu has never liked setting for him, even when they’d been regulars on the same team.

He misses Goshiki.

He shakes the melancholic thoughts off and asks a question of his own. “Who is ‘Shouyou’?”

The other's eyebrows are raised slightly. “Hinata Shouyou.”

“Oh, _him_.” Well, that explains a lot. He did notice that he had struck an unlikely friendship with Goshiki during the Shiratorizawa training camp. His thoughts turn curious as he regards the boy next to him. “How do you know Hinata-kun?”

It is quiet for some moments, the other clicking at the buttons on his game, a battle theme playing. “Our schools are fated rivals,” he answers at last, but that only serves to confound Semi further.

“Which school are you from?” Surely he would have heard of a Miyagi school that wasn’t Aoba Jousai that was the ‘fated rival’ of Karasuno?

“…Nekoma.”

“That’s not a Miyagi school,” Semi muses.

“It’s in Tokyo,” the other says softly. Semi stares at him, then smiles.

“No wonder. Can I ask your name?”

“Only if you tell me yours.”

What an interesting person.

“Semi Eita.”

“Kozume Kenma.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kozume-kun.”

“…Kenma.”

“What?”

Purple and white and black-tinged memories flash through his mind, days of laughter and sweat and aching muscles, peppered with cheery calls of encouragement and teasingly called first names.

“You can call me Kenma.” That gold cat's gaze is on him again, but now, it’s a little pleading, a little desperate.

(Semi wonders why.)

(Sometimes, he wishes he had more spine to say no.)

“Kenma.” The name feels weird on his tongue, too intimate, but also strangely endearing, and he realises with a thrill that this is his first friend in his new school.

“Eita.”

The shock of hearing his name without a suffix, without much familiarity behind it, has him freezing up again, and Kenma looks at him with a hint of concern.

“Should I not call you by name?” He sounds quiet and worried, and Semi hurriedly shakes his head.

“It’s…different.”

Kenma looks like he wants to say something, but a loud voice calls from the front of the room – the professor – to begin roll call.

Semi turns to face the front, quietly musing the thought of someone else being allowed to call him by name, silently nursing the hole in his heart.

x.x.x.x.x

The doodler's name is Futakuchi Kenji, and he seems to be in _every one_ of Shirabu’s classes.

At least he finally remembers why he seems so familiar.

_The old captain of Datekougyou, the team that never got past either Karasuno or Aoba Jousai. What’s he doing in Tokyo?_

“I’ve got Cell Bio next, what do you have?”

Shirabu checks his schedule, barely suppressing his shout of joy. “Bioinformatics.”

Futakuchi sighs dramatically as he stands. “So here we part. So long, my friend, my table mate, my not-so-fated classmate–”

“Bye.” Shirabu shoulders his bag and almost runs from the classroom, determined to get away.

He hears Futakuchi calling after him, “You’ll have to talk to me eventually!”

Shirabu wonders why he _has to_ , but puts it out of mind as he hurries away.

The Bioinformatics class seems to hold no one he recognises, nor anyone who wants to talk to him, and he almost eats the lemon in his bottle in relief.

Spitting it back into the water, he nibbles on his lip and wonders what he should have for dinner.

x.x.x.x.x

Kenma wants to know what he’s having for dinner.

Semi has no idea yet.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be meeting my roommate for dinner,” he tells him. “I’ll check with him first.”

“Oh.” Kenma's eyes are hooded, and he looks down at his game, hair curtaining his face.

Semi shoots him a worried glance, but calls Shirabu anyway. He picks up on the second ring, panting into the phone and sounding a lot like he has been running. _“Semi-san, this is not a good time–”_

“What are you doing?”

_“Hiding from Futakuchi. He has it in mind to be my next best friend or something.”_

The name is slightly familiar, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Well, you _do_ need more friends…”

_“Shut up. I have Taichi, that’s enou– Oh shit.”_

Semi can hear the pounding footsteps over the line, and smirks in amusement. “So as I was going to say, do you want to get dinner?”

_“What? This is a horribly inopportune time to ask me on a date, Semi-san.”_

Semi scowls, and sees Kenma peeking up at him. He waves his concern off, turning his attention back to the call. “I was trying to be nice, but by all means, let Futakuchi catch you and he can take you to dinner instead.”

Kenma freezes.

_“Not a chance in hell. Stay still.”_

“What are you talking abou–”

Something slams into him from behind, nearly bowling him over. He is kept upright by a hand on the back of his shirt, then he is being spun around and whoever it is is crouched behind him, hands pulling at his shirt.

“I’m not here, but I want you to walk backwards until we reach the building.”

Semi ends the call with a sigh. “Shirabu–”

“Eita, do as he says, _quickly._ ”

Semi whips around to see that Kenma is holding on to a grimly determined Shirabu, his eyes wide and panicked. He is confused, but begins backing up, their duckling train awkward and shuffling. “Kenma, why are _you_ acting like this?”

“Explain later.”

Semi sighs.

They have almost reached the building when a tall brunet comes running round the corner, and Semi nearly falls over with how suddenly the hands pull him backward.

A pair of hands grab each arm, and he is being pushed down the hallway and into the bathrooms when a shout goes up behind him.

The bathroom door is slammed and locked, two small bodies pressed against it in case anyone comes knocking. Semi huffs his exasperation, then folds his arms and raises an eyebrow at them. “Is this necessary?”

“Completely.”

“Yes.”

Kenma and Shirabu give each other a searching look, before turning back to him and nodding together.

There’s a loud knocking at the door, and the trio jump. A loud voice from beyond it calls, “Hey, is anyone in there? I really need to use the bathroom!”

Semi moves to open the door, but the other two push him back, Shirabu glaring daggers and Kenma pleading.

“Don’t. Ignore him, he’ll go away.” Kenma whispers.

The banging outside grows in intensity. “Hey, I saw someone go in here, and I really need to use the toilet!”

“You two go and lock yourselves in the cubicles, I’ll deal with him.”

When neither of them move, Semi glares and growls, “ _Now,_ or I’ll let him in anyway.”

They scurry off (Shirabu doing so with a hissed threat), and the banging seems to lessen a little, up till when he opens the door and the other nearly falls on him.

When he straightens, Semi is a little disgruntled to find that he is taller than him. Just a little, but still.

“Don’t you need to use the toilet?” He asks, stepping out of the way.

The brunet puts his hands in his pockets and grins. “Nah, I just needed you to let me in. Shirabu’s in here, isn’t he?” The other pushes past him, moving towards the two locked cubicle doors. “He really needs to stop running away when I want to tell him something.”

“Why can’t it wait till the next time you see him?”

(Semi belatedly realises that he confirmed Shirabu was in there.)

(He finds that he doesn’t really care.)

The brunet sighs heavily and turns back to him, throwing his arms in the air. “Because you don’t tell someone in the middle of the day that you think they’re pretty and want to hang out with them more! That’s just ridiculous.”

Semi can hear Shirabu’s very undignified spluttering from behind one of the doors, and watches the brunet turn in that direction, expression delighted.

“Shirabu! Were you _hiding_ from me?”

“Remove yourself.”

“Aww, I’m hurt!”

He doesn’t seem hurt at all, if the smirk on his face is anything to go by. Shirabu sniffs loudly and raises his voice.

“Semi-san, I _told_ you not to let him in.”

“Watch your tone.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he simpers. “I didn’t think you wanted me to stay in the toilet forever.”

“That’s a great idea.” Semi drawls. “Stay there, so I can have our room all to myself.”

“You suck.”

“Says the one who wants to hole up in the toilet forever–”

“I like you.” The tall brunet announces, turning to Semi. “Why don’t you go for dinner with me, and we can talk shit about Kenjirou _all night long._ ”

_First name basis?_ Semi thinks with amusement. _He must really like pissing Shirabu off._

He shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know, trapping him in the toilet forever seems pretty good to me.”

His phone _pings_ with a new message, and he opens it up, tuning out Shirabu’s angry rant.

**[Kenma]:** Please leave and take him with you

**[Kenma]:** Futakuchi is my roommate n he torments me

Semi raises an eyebrow, but quickly types a response.

**[Eita]:** Ok

**[Eita]:** Tell me about him sometime

**[Kenma]:** K

“So, Futakuchi-kun,” Semi begins cheerfully, cutting off Shirabu’s increasingly hysterical shouting, “Where did you want to have dinner?”

Futakuchi beams, walking over to sling an arm over his shoulder, object of torment forgotten. “I knew I could count on you. We’re going to have a _great_ time! Bye, Shirabu! See you in class!”

“Get lost.” There is a pause, before he continues in a slightly calmer tone. “Semi-san, if you tell him _anything_ incriminating, I’ll throw all your things out of the window–”

“Don’t know what that word means,” Semi informs him gleefully, staggering to the door under the weight of Futakuchi's arm. “Don’t stay up too late, you don’t want to be late again.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

x.x.x.x.x

Shirabu sighs when he hears the bathroom door slam shut, Semi and Futakuchi’s voices fading away. He is about to hit his head against the door before he realises that it is a _public_ bathroom, and who knows what things college boys do in there. He opts for slapping himself instead, groaning loudly.

There is a tentative knock at the door, and the mild tone of the small boy who had been with them earlier carries over to him. “Um…”

He shakes the last of his irritation off and picks up his bag. “Give me a second, I’m coming out.”

He unlocks the door to find the other looking at the floor, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Hey.”

The other looks up and nods a little, gesturing towards the door. Shirabu follows him, wondering why he isn’t talking more.

“Uh, so.” He begins awkwardly, and the other looks at him expectantly. “Uh… Do you want to go get dinner?”

The boy nods, pulling out a handheld game and booting it up. While the screen loads, he says, “Can we get onigiri?”

Shirabu stares at him, too shocked that he replied to formulate a real answer. “That’s not a proper meal.”

“Kuro’s not here, and neither is Eita,” he mumbles, already clicking at the game. “…please stop staring.”

“Ah. Sorry.” Shirabu turns away, trying to beat his thoughts in order while walking in the right direction.

To say he is taken aback is an understatement. It is day one of college, and somehow Semi has managed to make a friend…and they are on first name basis.

It is aggravating. Semi’s people skills are aggravating. _Semi_ is aggravating.

“What’s your name?”

It takes him a moment to register that he is being spoken to.

“Shirabu Kenjirou.” His gaze flicks over to the person beside him. “What’s yours?”

“…Kozume Kenma.” The screen of the game shifts to a loading page, and the shorter takes the chance to look up. “Don’t call me Kozume.”

“Uh,” Shirabu begins intelligently. Kozume – Kenma, he corrects, shoots him a look.

“Just don’t.”

“Okay.” The brunet looks back to the path, trying to keep his growing confusion to himself.

Gosh damn it, how many years has it been since he willingly made friends? He is _so_ rusty.

He can almost hear Kawanishi laughing at him.

_“Kenjirou, people aren’t that bad–”_

_“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t think Tendou-san is weird.”_

_Silence._

_“That’s what I thought.”_

_“Tendou-san is different, and you know it.”_

_“Oh, do I?” Shirabu drawls. “How many people have tried to befriend me over the past year? Our teammates don’t count.”_

_Kawanishi stares at him, then sighs wearily. “You’re going to regret not listening to me,” he intones. “Why can’t_ you _go to people?”_

_“I have you, and I have the team. That’s more than enough people.”_

_Kawanishi is quiet for a minute, before he repeats, “You’re going to regret it.”_

_“Watch me.”_

…maybe he does regret it.

But Kawanishi does not have to know, and it is going to stay that way.

“Shirabu.”

“Hmm?”

He really needs to stop it with the one word and onomatopoeia responses.

“There’s a convenience store over there.”

“So…onigiri?”

_Slightly better. That was two words._

Kenma nods and leads the way, despite still being engrossed in his game. Shirabu wonders if it is socially acceptable to ignore him.

Suddenly, an obnoxious tone blares beside him, causing Shirabu to trip over the threshold of the store. He gathers himself in time, turning back to see Kenma press his phone between his ear and shoulder, hands still manipulating the gaming device.

_“Kenma!”_ The voice is loud enough that Shirabu can hear it, and he feels a thread of sympathy for Kenma’s eardrums. The smaller boy doesn’t react in the slightest, just sighing as he heads for the refrigerated section.

“What is it.”

An affronted gasp. _“Kozume Kenma, I did not raise you that way–”_

“Spit it out, Kuro.” Kenma picks two packets off the shelf, standing aside as he waits for Shirabu to choose his own. “I’m busy.”

_“Playing your game is not counted as ‘busy’.”_

“…I’m with a friend.”

_“A friend? A friend? Do mine ears deceive me? Bo, Kenma made a friend!”_

_“What? That’s great news! Tell him congrats for me!”_

_“Bo says–”_

“Congrats, I heard.” Shirabu has known this boy for all of five minutes, and he likes him already. He doesn’t know many people who can pull off such a sour tone of voice, and it is truly a work of art.

_“Kenma, be nice.”_

“I _am_ nice.” Kenma says petulantly, and oh gosh, if Shirabu doesn’t recognise that tone. It’s one of his favourites.

_“Ah, well, okay, whatever. Have you eaten yet?”_

“Going to.”

_“Is it conbini food,”_ Kuro asks, his deadpan tone carrying over the line.

“Of course not.” Kenma looks mildly guilty as he stares at the onigiri nestled in the crook of his arm, before sighing and replacing one with another containing pickles.

_“You are. Do I have to go over and teach you how to cook?”_

“No. I’m not a child.”

Shirabu rolls his eyes at the mothering nature of Kenma’s friend – he sounds uncannily like _someone_ he knows – and taps his wrist, gesturing towards the cashier. Kenma nods and tells Kuro, “Bye. My friend’s leaving, I have to catch up.”

_“Bye! I’ll visit tomorrow, with a bento and recipes–”_

Kenma ends the call and pockets the phone, standing behind Shirabu glumly.

The brunet feels a sudden surge of kinship with his new friend, and tells him, “If it’s any consolation, someone constantly does that to me too.”

Kenma looks at him curiously, so he answers his unvoiced question. “Semi-san is the naggiest team member I have ever known.”

Kenma’s horrified face makes him smile.

Maybe it isn’t so hard to make friends after all.

_(Ha. Take that, Taichi.)_

x.x.x.x.x

Semi pushes the door open, kicking his shoes off and flopping face-first onto his bed. Shirabu looks up from his textbook, his tone smug. “So?”

Semi turns his head just enough to speak. “He’s got your mouth and Satori’s excessive energy. I’m tired.”

“Serves you right.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him,” Semi points out. “He’s nice, just overly talkative.”

“He’s not nice in any sense.” Shirabu sniffs. “Did he insult you at all?”

“Maybe. We spent most of our time talking about you.” Semi sounds smug, and the brunet has a sudden sense of impending doom. “I didn’t know you use Cinnamoroll stationery.”

Shirabu reddens, quickly sliding his notebook under his pillow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? What about the Hamtaro Post-Its?”

“No clue.”

“Pity. Then I can’t borrow them.” Semi stands and stretches, moving to get a set of clothes. Shirabu stares at him, unable to find his voice.

“Do you _want_ that sort of stationery?”

Semi picks up his toiletries and walks over to the door. “Cinnamoroll is cute.”

The door _clicks_ shut, leaving Shirabu chewing on his pencil and staring at the doodle in his textbook.

x.x.x.x.x

There is a Post-It on his table, filled with crossed-out variations of his name and half-written insults, before the person finally settled on _Good morning_ , a fat Cinnamoroll drawn beside it.

Semi smiles at the obvious attempt at being nice.

“Cute.”

x.x.x.x.x

Things get easier between them after that.

Every morning is a rush, a flurry of papers and dropped pens, alarms going unheard and the screaming aftermath. But there would always be a bento or an offer to cook dinner as an apology, even when they have volleyball and are too tired to do anything.

It is a comfortable routine, almost serene.

x.x.x.x.x

**[Shirabu]:** Won’t be back for dinner

**[Semi]:** K. Make sure you have a proper meal

**[Shirabu]:** Speaking of which

**[Shirabu]:** Futakuchi wont be in today

**[Semi]:** …

**[Semi]:** You want me to feed Kenma

**[Semi]:** He can feed himself, hes an adult

**[Shirabu]:** Kuroo’s busy

**[Semi]:** …fine

**[Shirabu]:** Kenma will love you forever

**[Semi]:** You don’t have to flatter me to feed him

**[Shirabu]:** Who said anything about flattery

**[Semi]:** Actual kind words? Wow

**[Shirabu]:** Bye

Semi grins at his reaction, then turns to put the whitebait back into the freezer. It wouldn’t be any good for dinner now, but he supposes he can use it to make lunch for them the next day.

He calls Kenma, and tells him to come over.

x.x.x.x.x

It’s 11pm, and Shirabu isn’t back yet.

Semi sighs and prods Kenma to wake him, but he just curls into a tighter ball under the blankets.

_“Kenma.”_

“No.”

“It’s eleven.”

“Mm.”

“Futakuchi just asked me if you’re here or on a date.”

“’M sleeping.”

Semi sighs and picks up his phone.

**[Semi]:** Are you coming back yet or can I let Kenma sleep in your bed

He puts his phone aside, frowning at the boy in his bed. “Kenma.”

“Mm?”

“Are you going to bleach your hair again or no?”

Kenma cracks an eye open, not expecting that question. He glances at the hair covering the pillow, mostly black with a hint of yellow near the ends. “Dunno.”

“I’ll do it for you if you go back to your own room.”

Kenma’s eye closes, and he grumbles into the blanket. “Lazy.”

_“Kenma.”_

“Sleep in Shirabu’s bed.”

“If I get kicked out of it when he gets back, I’m not cooking for you for a week.”

“’Kay.”

Semi sighs. Sleepy Kenma is impossible to bribe or reason with.

He turns out the lights, and climbs into Shirabu’s bed.

x.x.x.x.x

There is someone giggling beside his ear, and then the covers are pulled back, a body slipping in beside him. Something is poking and patting his shoulder, the touch stirring him from slumber. “Semi-san. Semi-san.”

Semi grumbles and turns away, trying to escape the irritating touch. He is trying to sleep, damnit.

“Semi-san.”

“Shut up.” He thinks he says it, but even if he doesn’t, he doesn’t care. He wants to _sleep._

Another giggle. “You probably can’t hear me, so I’m gonna tell you anyway. I went out with someone, and he’s sooo cute.”

“Shut up, Shirabu.” He puts his hand over his exposed ear to drown out his voice.

He can’t really hear anymore, and slowly drifts back to sleep, the excited murmuring fading away.

x.x.x.x.x

_“Oi, Satori, is this okay?”_

_Tendou looks up from that week’s copy of Jump, cocking his head. “Change your shirt, and you’ll be fine.” Then, “Ooh, Eita-kun has a date?”_

_“It’s not a date, you ass.” Thankfully, his back is turned, hiding his suddenly red face from his best friend. “I’m following Wakatoshi on an errand.”_

_“Ooh? I want to come!”_

_“You can’t.”_

_“Don’t be mean, Semisemi. I know! I’ll just go ask Wakatoshi-kun myself~”_

_“No! Don’t!”_

_But Tendou has already run out of the room, and it’s all Semi can do to chase him down because he absolutely_ cannot _come along when they are going shopping for_ his _birthday._

x.x.x.x.x

It’s unbearably warm when he wakes up, and he sighs as he reaches for his chirping phone. He clicks the alarm off, trying to sit up before he realises something is pinning him down.

He blinks, mind still bleary with the memory of a dream, before his brain begins to comprehend that there is something on top of him.

A fuzzy memory comes to him, of giggling and excited whispering, of someone sliding into the bed next to him.

Ah, right. He is in Shirabu’s bed.

He lifts the arm off his torso and tucks it next to his sleeping roommate, shimmying out of bed and tucking the covers back around him.

A glance at his own bed shows that Kenma has already left, so he tosses his phone on it before trying to find a clean set of clothes.

He has just finished refreshing himself when his phone rings, and he swipes it off the bed. “Hello?

_“Eita, are you skipping? I want to come over.”_

“Kenma?” Semi peers at the clock on his desk, but it’s too dark to read an analogue clock. He shuffles over to Shirabu’s clock, twisting it so he can see the numbers. “It’s too early for class. Weren’t you here just a few hours ago?”

_“I need an excuse to hide from Kuro. He came to pick me up at two and now he won’t leave.”_

Semi stares at the glowing numbers. “2am.”

_“Yes.”_

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can come over after class. I’m not skipping lessons.”

Kenma sighs, eliciting a chuckle from Semi. “I’m not smart like you. I need to attend all my classes.”

Kenma mumbles something incoherent, before asking, _“Is Shirabu skipping?”_

Semi glances at the bed, then steps over to shine his phone on their message board. There are no new Post-Its.

“No. He might be late, but he’s going.”

Kenma is silent, before huffing and muttering, _“Fine. I won’t skip.”_

“If you skip, you’d have to face Kuroo all day anyway.”

_“Can you make me lunch?”_

Semi is about to say no when Kenma reminds, _“Shirabu didn’t kick you out of bed.”_

“That does not mean that I’ll cook for you!” He splutters. (In the back of his mind, he realises that means Shirabu got back before two. The thought is infinitely comforting.) “Make Kuroo do it. He’s already there.”

_“But he’ll make me_ fish. _”_

“I was going to make shirasu-don today, so it’s going to be fish either way.”

He hears more grumbling, before Kenma says, _“Kuro. Lunch.”_

A groan from Kenma’s end. _“We haven’t even had breakfast yet.”_

_“Make me a bento.”_

_“I’m not your boyfriend, kitten.”_

_“You dragged me out of bed at 2am.”_

_“I’ll treat you to lunch, okay? Let me sleep.”_

Semi snickers at Kenma’s pleased hum. “Alright, go prepare for class. I have bentos to cook.”

_“’Kay. See you.”_

He ends the call and pockets his phone, writing a short note to stick on the message board before he leaves the room.

It occurs to him that Kuroo is right, that preparing bentos is something that a significant other would do, but convinces himself that he only does it for his friends because they never seem to feed themselves properly otherwise.

That is all it is. Concern for his friends.

...right?


	3. Never Grow Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opportunities arise from bad decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay wow, I didn't know I hadn't written for this for 2 months?? Also I'm sorry it's weird, I started this 2 months ago and my original idea has been lost

The buzzing from his phone is getting annoying, and he contemplates turning the vibrate off so he can study in peace. He twists to regard the device on his bed, the screen lighting up with yet another incoming message.

He sighs and picks up the phone.

**[Kenjirou]:** This was a bad idea

**[Kenjirou]:** Why did I let Futakuchi talk me into this

**[Kenjirou]:** Right cos im stupid

**[Kenjirou]:** Taichi save me

**[Kenjirou]:** We’re in the house

**[Kenjirou]:** This guy must be hella rich

**[Kenjirou]:** Holy shit this is Akaashi’s house

**[Kenjirou]:** I thought Akaashi was supposed to be all goody two shoes

**[Kenjirou]:** apparently mot

**[Kenjirou]:** thk god kuroo isnt here

**[Kenjirou]:** ohmygod its oikawa-san

**[Kenjirou]:** and his ace whatshisname

**[Kenjirou]:** iwa-chan? Tht doesn’t sound liek a name

**[Kenjirou]:** Right its iwaizumi

**[Kenjirou]:** hes hot save me

**[Kenjirou]:** taichiiii answr me

Kawanishi sighs and types a reply.

**[Taichi]:** r u drunk

**[Kenjirou]:** YOU FINALLY REPLIED

**[Taichi]:** answer the question

**[Kenjirou]:** oooooh proper spellinh, scarryyyy

**[Taichi]:** Kenjirou.

**[Kenjirou]:** maybe idk

**[Kenjirou]:** but iwaizumisan is jow

**[Kenjirou]:** hot

**[Kenjirou]:** im gonna talk to hik

**[Taichi]:** be safe

Kawanishi tosses his phone onto his pillow and picks up his textbook. Shirabu’s drunk self can’t do too much damage, he reckons. He can always check back after he finishes this chapter.

**[Kenjirou]:** taichi stop me

**[Kenjirou]:** hes so cute hwlp

**[Kenjirou]:** ah no he left

**[Kenjirou]:** I shld go chase him

**[Kenjirou]:** ohno the other seijou boys r hwre

**[Kenjirou]:** the pink one is hogging him

**[Kenjirou]:** I need to get him back

**[Kenjirou]:** oh good pinky left

**[Kenjirou]:** no oikawa-sam in aight

**[Kenjirou]:** ure nog here so I’m gonna do bad things

**[Kenjirou]:** HE SAID HELL WALK ME BACK

**[Kenjirou]:** SCORE

**[Kenjirou]:** wait till semi-san heres

**[Kenjirou]:** HE PATTED MW ON THE BACK WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

**[Kenjirou]:** AAAHHHHH

**[Kenjirou]:** semi-sans in my bed

**[Kenjirou]:** oh kenmaz in his

**[Kenjirou]:** eh whatever

**[Kenjirou]:** hes cute ill pretend hes iwaizumi-san

**[Kenjirou]:** nigghtttt

Kawanishi blinks at his screen and rereads the messages, squinting at the font as if it will change the contents of the messages. It doesn’t, so he groans and throws his phone back on the bed.

_Goddamnit, Kenjirou_.

x.x.x.x.x

_“Kenjirou.”_

_No response._

“Kenjirou.”

_“Mmphrgh.”_

_“Get up and drink some water.”_

_“No.”_

_“Get up, you sick pig.”_

_“No. Lemme sleep.”_

_“Do you want me to get Semi-san?”_

_The covers are pulled down a little, exposing an eye lined with deep bags. “You wouldn’t.”_

_“I’ll get Tendou-san too.”_

_“Goddamnit, Taichi.”_

_“Thank me later.”_

He sighs and closes his textbook, looking at the time.

Oh. He studied through the night. That hasn’t happened in a while.

He groans as he stretches out his legs, reaching for his phone. No new messages, but he opens the application anyway, composing a new one and sending it off.

He may not be able to keep his best friend out of trouble, but he knows who can.

x.x.x.x.x

**[Taichi]:** panadol n h2o

**[Semi]:** What

**[Taichi]:** kenjirou

**[Semi]:** Sigh. Thanks Taichi

**[Taichi]:** punch him 4 me

**[Semi]:** Kay

Semi tucks his phone into his back pocket, picking the finished bentos up and heading back to his room. Once inside, he digs in his bag for his small medicine stash, cutting off two tabs of panadol to place on Shirabu’s side table.

The sky is getting brighter, but he decides to leave his roommate be until he refills their water bottles.

In hindsight, that was a bad idea.

_“Shirabu.”_

“G’way.” The brunet mumbles incoherently and tugs the blanket over his head. A few pokes to his back earns him nothing but some wiggling, so he sighs and sits beside him.

**[Semi]:** How well does he hold his liquor

**[Taichi]:** lightweight

**[Semi]:** K bad question. How much did he drink

**[Taichi]:** enuf to b angry if u wake him

**[Semi]:** gdi

Semi sighs and grips the edge of the blanket. “Shirabu, you have two seconds before I rip this off.”

No response.

He tears the blanket off, taking it to the other bed to fold, ignoring the indignant whine behind him.

“Lemme sleep– Oww.”

“Drink the water and take the panadol. You’re getting to class today, whether you like it or not.”

“I hate you.”

“You’re welcome, because that’s a lab you have in an hour.”

He hears a panicked curse followed by a pained groan, and shakes his head at the sound of pattering footsteps and muffled banging disappearing down the hallway. Setting the folded blanket on the correct bed, he turns to Shirabu’s closet and starts pulling out a lab-appropriate outfit, then packs his bag and places it next to his shoes.

**[Semi]:** He didnt seem very angry

**[Taichi]:** hes late 4 class

**[Taichi]:** d anger will b bck

**[Semi]:** Thanks for the heads up?

**[Taichi]:** ur welcome

**[Taichi]:** ull need it

He’s about to head out when an angry maelstrom crashes past him, diving about the room in a flurry before setting upon the things already laid out for him. Semi would love to stay and watch – Shirabu gets stuck in his T-shirt for a solid minute, how is that even _possible_ – but he knows better than to take Kawanishi's advice lightly, so he _clicks_ the door shut behind him just as an infuriated yell is birthed.

He sneaks off with a snicker, messaging Futakuchi to beware the monster in class.

He gets an extremely garbled reply, and sighs heavily.

_Reckless teenagers._

x.x.x.x.x

_“Taichi.”_

_It’s a hiss, a panicked call, and he peers blearily out of his blanket nest to raise an eyebrow._

_“Come help me pick an outfit.”_

_“Why.” He thinks he mumbles it – he isn’t sure, there are just too many blankets – but Shirabu whines and drops onto the bed anyway._

_“Semi-san asked me to help distract Ushijima-san while they’re out.”_

_“And what’re you going to do? Dress like a stripper?”_

_He doesn’t even mind the smack to his leg – the blankets absorb the impact – but he_ does _mind his roommate lying across his stomach, because he can’t_ breathe.

_“Kenjirou– Get off–”_

_“I need help,” Shirabu whines. “They’ll be going into town, and I need to keep Ushijima-san occupied while Semi-san and Tendou-san find him a gift.”_

_“And– This is– Important– Why?” He wheezes, trying to dislodge the dead weight, but Shirabu is surprisingly heavy._

_“Because what if I don’t know what to say? What am I supposed to talk about? We’re going to be_ by ourselves _, this is the opportunity of a lifetime–”_

_“You– See– Him– At– Practice– Everyday.”_

_“I don’t need to hold a conversation during practice!”_

_Kawanishi finally succeeds in shoving Shirabu off his diaphragm, and wheezes for a minute. When he finally regains his breath, his roommate is seated on his legs, bemoaning his predicament._

_He sits up and pulls his legs back, dislodging Shirabu and sending him sprawling, but he can’t care less. “Just wear whatever. It doesn’t matter.”_

_“You’re so unhelpful.”_

_“Ushijima-san doesn’t care about appearances,” he tells him. “But think about it this way – anything you wear would definitely be better than what Semi-san is wearing.”_

_“Not if Tendou-san is picking it.”_

_“Well, true, but how often does that happen?”_

_He’s met with silence, and hides his small smile in the blankets._

_“Okay,_ fine _, I’ll just wear jeans and whatever.”_

_“As long as you’re wearing clothes,” Kawanishi drawls, promptly flopping back and hiding himself in the blankets._

_“I’m not an exhibitionist or a nudist, of course I’ll wear clothes.”_

_Kawanishi doesn’t bother to reply him._

x.x.x.x.x

“Shirabu-kun.”

He turns around slowly – after too many near-vomiting experiences that day, he has resigned himself to the vertigo – looking up into a pair of familiar green eyes. “Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi looks kind of awkward, but he holds out a familiar-looking jacket – his, he realises belatedly.

“Thanks for your jacket last night. It was a nice gesture,” he says, a crooked smile lifting a corner of his mouth. Shirabu takes the jacket from him – no wonder he couldn’t find it – and returns his smile sheepishly.

“No problem. Sorry for the trouble yesterday,” he mumbles.

“It was no trouble at all. I’d be more worried if you didn’t get back safely.”

“You didn’t have to,” he mutters. “But thank you. I don’t remember anything about last night.”

Iwaizumi frowns. “Nothing at all?”

“I remember seeing the other Seijou boys in your year, but that’s about it. Everything after that is gone.” He tries not to blush – he is above blushing like a schoolgirl, damnit – but allows an embarrassed grin to show his sincerity.

The other chuckles. “You don’t remember giving me your jacket, then?”

“No.”

“You were very nice about it,” Iwaizumi tells him. “You said you couldn’t let me go back out into the cold without anything on and shoved it at me until I took it.”

Shirabu is stunned for a moment, before he chokes out, “I’m sorry I’m such a pushy drunk. That doesn’t sound nice.”

“You are very stubborn, but it was a nice gesture.” He starts to turn away, then whips back around, brow furrowed. “Wait. If you don’t remember anything, then why would you apologise for causing me trouble?”

“I, uh,” he fidgets uncomfortably, before softly admitting, “I’m always trouble when I’m drunk.”

Iwaizumi laughs loudly, and he’s stunned – he has such a beautiful laugh, but he’s also so _embarrassed_.

The older grins widely and claps him on the back, almost making him stumble. “Don’t worry about it. You weren’t that much trouble.”

“Really?” Shirabu’s sceptical – despite denying it, he does know a little of what transpired. His gushing messages to Kawanishi are proof enough of that.

“Well,” Iwaizumi pauses, “There is one thing I’d like to ask about.”

_Oh no. Please don’t let it be–_

“Shirabu-kun,” their eyes meet, bright green and nervous hazel, “You kept mentioning how ‘hot’ I was?”

_Please kill me._

It takes him a few seconds to get his voice working again, but he manages to choke out, “I wasn’t lying.”

Iwaizumi’s expression softens a little, and he cracks a small smile. “I don’t think you were.”

“I’m sorry,” he bursts out. “Don’t tell anyone else, please.”

Iwaizumi looks confused. “Tell anyone what?”

“That I’m, you know,” he waves a hand, “Not straight.”

Some of the confusion clears from the older’s face, but he still sounds puzzled when he asks, “Why would I tell anyone that?”

“What?”

(He’s so confused.)

“It’s not my place to tell anyone else what your preferences are,” Iwaizumi says firmly, and he looks so serious, Shirabu actually believes him. “I wouldn’t want anyone doing that to me, and I wouldn’t do it to anyone else either.”

“I– Thank you.” He hesitates just a moment, before asking softly, “Can I ask? What your preferences are?”

Iwaizumi smiles a little. “I’m demisexual. You?”

“Pansexual.” It feels like a weight has been lifted when he says it out loud, and he lets out a small sigh.

He hears a laugh, looks up to see Iwaizumi grinning at him. “Never told anyone before?”

“…no,” he admits. “There wasn’t a need to.”

“Don’t I know how that feels,” Iwaizumi sighs.

There’s a beat of silence between them, before Iwaizumi says, “Well, I ought to be getting back. Thanks again.”

He can feel the opportunity slipping from between his fingers, breath catching in his throat as the words lodge themselves in the tight space, refusing to come out.

_Last chance_ , the wind whispers as it brushes by.

His hand clenches around the jacket, turning fully to face his retreating back. “Iwaizumi-san!”

He turns, confusion playing out across his features, and he takes a deep breath, exhaling forcefully.

“I know you told me your preferences, but would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime? Tonight, if you’re free?”

The taller boy’s expression clears, replaced by a sort of wry smile. “I’ll agree on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“We’re going as friends. Don’t expect more.”

He bows sharply, hiding his smile in his collar.

“Of course.”

x.x.x.x.x

**[Shirabu]:** Won’t be back for dinner

**[Semi]:** again?

**[Shirabu]:** You’re not my mom

**[Semi]:** I pick up after yo u enough to be

**[Shirabu]:** whatever

**[Shirabu]:** I’ll be eating dinner on my own, relax

**[Semi]:** well, im glad you know what I’m worrying abt

**[Shirabu]:** IM NOT THT SKINNY

**[Semi]:** Yes you are

**[Shirabu]:** no

**[Semi]:** yes

**[Shirabu]:** No.

**[Shirabu]:** ps thanks for the shirasu-don

**[Semi]:** … youre welcome

**[Shirabu]:** I was bring sincere but guess I wont anymore

**[Semi]:** I was stunned, sue me

**[Shirabu]:** I’m not that ungrateful

**[Semi]:** o rlly

**[Shirabu]:** guess I’ll put the tekka maki back

**[Semi]:** WAIT

Shirabu snickers as he pockets his phone without replying, putting the packet of fish into the basket and nudging the person beside him. “Come on, let’s go.”

Kenma barely looks up from his game, but he does ask, “Do you have the apple pie?”

Shirabu rolls his eyes. “No. I’m going to make you apple pie instead of letting you eat the store-bought one.”

“Really?” It’s the most hopeful Shirabu has ever heard him, and he smothers a laugh.

“Yes, of course. You should learn how to make it too.”

“Lazy,” Kenma mumbles, trudging along behind him. “Kuro’ll get me some any time.”

“You treat him like a servant.”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

“Huh?”

“Eita spends half his time picking up after you.”

“I don’t ask him to.”

“But he still does, and you don’t thank him. At least I thank Kuro.”

Shirabu opens his mouth to refute, but finds his words gone, any eloquence dried up like an old well. He can practically feel the smugness radiating off his friend, and stews quietly – what else can he do?

They’re almost at the checkout when he thinks to say, “I do things for him sometimes too.”

Kenma doesn’t reply for a long while – he thinks he must have reached the boss stage – but when he does, it’s with a sigh and the blackened screen of his game. “Not as much as he does for you.”

Shirabu’s almost too stunned that he turned off his game to answer. “He doesn’t have to. He’s trying to be my mom,” he grumbles.

“He cares about you.”

“He cares about everyone.”

“Fair point.”

Shirabu props the basket onto the self-checkout counter, scanning in silence. Kenma helps to bag the items, remaining mercifully quiet until they exit the store.

“You know, there was a point in time where Kuroo told me he liked me.”

“Oh?” He is confused; what does this have to do with their earlier conversation?

“Yeah,” Kenma muses. “But now he has Koutarou, so I don’t have to worry about feelings I can’t return.”

“I see.”

(Really, what is he supposed to say to all this?)

“You don’t understand what I’m trying to hint at,” Kenma comments.

Shirabu feels relieved and slightly annoyed. “What gave it away?”

“Your face, maybe.”

_“Maybe?”_

“Maybe.” Kenma smiles, but it drops quickly, sighing. “Maybe Eita’s so caring because he likes you.”

He snorts. “As if Semi-san would ever like me.”

“Why not?”

“We just don’t like each other.” His tone is hard, trying to signal the end of the conversation, and he’s glad when Kenma doesn’t press further.

He doesn’t want to revisit those memories. After all, they’ve been locked away for a reason.

x.x.x.x.x

_“You sure you'll be okay?”_

_“For goodness sake,_ yes. _I’m moving to the city, not to another country.”_

_“Just checking. I–”_

_“Worry. I know.” His voice has softened, and he drops his bag, tilting his head back to regard him. “I’ll be fine. Really.”_

_His friend pulls him into a smothering hug, enveloping him fully in his embrace, counting, counting, keeping time until he has to let go._

_“Be safe.” A whisper as he steps back, full of panic and worry and desperate, desperate wishes._

_“I’ll do what I can.” It’s not a promise – he can’t promise this, definitely not – but it’s the sincerity of the sentiment that pacifies him, because now, it might take him a bit longer to do something stupid._

_“Call me when you get there.”_

_“I’ll text you,” he offers. “You’re getting overbearing like this.”_

_He opens his mouth only to bite back the_ I worry _that threatens to fall out, swapping it for an_ Okay _instead._

_This time it’s Shirabu who steps forward for a hug, whispering his goodbyes, shouting them in the strength of his embrace, lightly reassuring him in the soft touch on his hair._

_And then he’s on the train, and the afternoon sun blinds him as he watches the train disappear._

x.x.x.x.x

**[Eita]:** Coming over?

**[Kenma]:** Nah. Kuros cooking

**[Eita]:** For Futakuchi too or no

**[Eita]:**?

**[Kenma]:** ofc for futa too

**[Kenma]:** I am very kinf, u kno

**[Eita]:** how did kenma let you have his phone

**[Kenma]:** I have my ways

**[Kenma]:** n e way, kitten and futa r with me tonite

**[Eita]:** I had to stare at that for 5 min before it made sense

**[Kenma]:** Kuros spelling sucks

**[Eita]:** Tell me sth I dont know

**[Kenma]:** Futakuchi snores

**[Kenma]:** Dinner. C u tmr

**[Eita]:** See you

Semi places his phone at the edge of the table, lacing his hands behind his head. A slow grin spreads over his face as the reality of the situation settles on him.

_No Shirabu, Kenma or Futakuchi tonight. Wow._

_I can finally study in peace, hell yes._

He gets up to pluck a textbook from his bag, setting a timer on his phone before putting it in the dresser.

If he's to study, there can be no distractions. But he’ll have to get up and make dinner eventually, and he refuses to forget to eat just because he’s actually studying for once.

He flips open to where he left off, re-reading the familiar concept, sinking into the rhythm of absorbing information.

x.x.x.x.x

It’s 11pm when he stops, and as he gets up to brush his teeth, his eyes land on the empty bed next to him.

It’s a little worrying, but he reminds himself that Shirabu is old enough to take care of himself, pushing the thought out of mind as he leaves the room.

He writes a note and pins it to their corkboard, casting a last glance at the vacant bed before he turns out the lights.

(The emptiness rings in his head, a despondent purr throbbing in his mind. It prods at the gaping maw of his heart, reminding, reminding, of better times, noisier times, a time where there was laughter and table lamps and trundling snores–)

The room is too quiet, and he sighs.

He’ll never get used to sleeping alone.

x.x.x.x.x

_Come home earlier next time, it’s not safe late at night._

_P.S. It’s your turn to make lunch but I’m getting up early because I’m sure you won’t wake up._

He plucks the note from the board, smiling at the first part of the message, sticking his tongue out at his roommate's back at the latter half.

Grabbing a pen from the table, he scribbles his reply and sticks the note back on the board before grabbing his things to shower.

His phone lights up with a new message, and he types a reply with a small grin before leaving, closing the door quietly behind him.

In the silence of the room, the phone vibrates periodically, marking the pauses between the soft snores from the occupied bed.

_1 unread message from Taichi_

_15 unread messages from Futakuchi_

_2 unread messages from Iwaizumi✨_


	4. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light broken apart on the rippling surface of water never quite joins back up in the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's weird??? I lost my idea, it's been a million years since I looked at this

Crumpled notes in a bin, cold, cutting remarks. Brushing off of concerns and turning away, silence stretched taut, unyielding.

It is painful, unexpected, but most of all, it makes him constantly nervous with the thought of _what have I done?_

(He doesn’t recall doing anything bad – he doesn’t know what he has done to create this rift between them when they were doing just fine before.)

(But maybe he _does_ know. Maybe he does have an inkling of what has transpired to force them into this situation now.)

He’s tried to take it back a million times, but nothing seems to be working.

Semi presses his fingertips against his chest, above the painful thumping of his heart.

The pressure eases the pain a little, but he can’t hold the wound closed like this forever.

x.x.x.x.x

It's never been this bad between them. Yet for a month so far, they’ve been walking on eggshells around each other – or well, _Semi_ has – and it hasn’t been sitting well with him.

(He wakes up every day with a pool of dread in his stomach, relieved only when he escapes their room.)

(The panic comes back whenever he thinks of going back to their dorm at night, and even studying in their room has become an ordeal.)

(He counts himself lucky that his roommate likes to study in the library.)

His routine has never been so defined, never been this accurate in order to avoid Shirabu.

…ironic, because they can never truly escape each other when they share a room.

Yet the tension between them is clearly seen, evident in the meals that they no longer share with each other – one bento in the fridge instead of two – and in the times they spend out of the room.

(And in the minutes that they _have_ to face each other in the mornings, when their schedules overlap, they exchange tight smiles or their eyes don’t meet.)

(Semi can’t remember when was the last time that he packed Shirabu’s bag because he was late.)

(That’s a lie, because he _can, he can_ , how could he forget?)

Their arrangement is so bizarre, yet their friends seemed to have accepted it, not mentioning the other unless they really have to, allowing them to steer the conversation away once they are done.

Semi wonders how long it will take for him to go crazy.

He wonders if he’s already gone mad.

He has dinner so early these days, preparing a few days of food, taking the leftovers to school. His food is not touched by anyone else in the fridge, and it both relieves and confuses him.

He can see the containers that Shirabu uses, and steers clear of those as well. He’s not ready for another fight, not just yet.

He’s only properly distracted when he’s in class, and it’s the singular place that he throws his spare energy into. He sits in the front rows, recording the lectures, re-listening to them before he studies the material, and it’s not until Kenma points out how much he’s doing that he realises it may be a little over the top.

(But he doesn’t care, can’t care, because he’s drowning in panic and the need to protect himself, and he doesn’t know _why._ )

~~(He knows why, but he’s pretending that that reason doesn’t exist.)~~

He wonders if he should apologise again, even though he’s done nothing wrong, not really.

…he feels so guilty.

But still he says nothing, pressing on with his (slightly) destructive method of coping, throwing himself into studying, even when he can’t focus and all he wants to do is curl up and sleep his problems away.

x.x.x.x.x

He starts a text at least five times, erasing all of it before he can get far.

He doesn’t hear the lecturer’s voice in the recording sometimes because he’s too caught up in his worry, and studying one topic takes thrice as long.

The exams are ticking closer, and he’s worried about them, but he can’t bring himself to focus, no matter how hard he pinches himself, no matter how many times he tried to regulate his breathing and clear his mind.

(Maybe he _is_ going crazy.)

(Why is he so bothered by it?)

(He did nothing wrong.)

(It’s irrational to be thinking this way, but he can’t seem to stop.)

( _Why_ is he so bothered? Shirabu irritates him to no end on a normal day, and yet now, it feels like he’s being torn apart.)

(It doesn’t make _sense._ )

He tugs his legs up on the chair and wraps his arms around them, staring despondently at his notes.

He has an exam in five days. He can’t be worrying, not right now.

x.x.x.x.x

Everything he sees makes him a little more paranoid, a little more frantic. The notes he saved from before their tiff seem incriminating now, jokes and camaraderie like a slap to the face. Every time he opens the drawer to get something, he catches a glimpse of them, and it makes him bite on his lip nervously, a shot of fresh dread in his veins.

Once he can no longer take it, he gathers them up, stuffing them into an envelope, burying its plain face at the bottom of the drawer.

(He wants to burn them, to get them completely out of his life, but he can’t, he _won’t._ )

(He’s not that brave, and he knows he’ll regret it after.)

His roommate has no such inhibitions, he knows–

–the day after their fight, the dustbin down the hallway was stuffed full of Post-Its, every one of them bearing his handwriting.

He never knew there were that many.

He never thought he kept them all.

(He thought he was the only one, and now it’s too late.)

Sometimes, a memory will creep up on him, worn to fading, aged with time, and he sees them in a different light now. He sees what he has never seen before, and he hates that his vision is so clouded.

(He doesn’t know what’s the truth anymore, and it frightens him.)

(Are his current feelings messing up his old memories? Or were they always that way?)

(He doesn’t know, doesn’t know, doesn’t know, and all he wants is for this anxiety to _end._ )

(How long has it been now?)

He turns over to face the wall, exhaling shakily, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, refusing to let more emotions rise.

He should be above being this hormonal and frantic. He never knew he could feel this horrible. He never imagined wanting to die this much.

(Maybe he’s being a little dramatic, but it’s _true._ )

He buries his face in the pillow and tries not to scream, praying for sleep to come.

x.x.x.x.x

He almost doesn’t hear the knock at his door, and it takes him too long to get up and open it.

He’s surprised to find Kenma there.

The younger looks at him a little sourly before relenting, gently shouldering past him to flop on his bed. “How’s the studying?”

“Not good,” Semi admits, closing the door and curling back up in his chair. “I’ve been transcribing this one for five hours. I’m almost done though.”

“When was the last time you took a break?”

“An hour or two ago?” He can’t remember. “I’m so mad at this lecturer, how can she _talk so much_?”

Kenma shrugs, his eyes already glued to his device’s screen. “Do you want to come play volleyball later?”

Semi pulls an earbud out of his ear, painstakingly typing the latest words into his notes. “…no, not really.”

“You haven’t been in forever.”

“The exam’s on Monday and I have three lectures left to transcribe.” It’s hard to keep the desperation out of his voice, the barely-concealed hysteria from boiling over. “This one’s taken me so long, and I still have to revise everything again after, I _don’t have time–_ ”

“You’ll do fine, you’re always studying.”

“No, I’m not.” His fingernails dig into his palms, and the pain is too dull, not enough to wake him from the misery ready to engulf him. “I’m not doing enough, I don’t remember anything.”

Kenma glances up at him. “You’ve studied a lot,” he repeats. “You’ll do fine.”

Semi exhales heavily, fingers moving to his wrist, nails digging into the thinner skin. “I’m going to keep transcribing this.”

He turns back to his computer, and Kenma doesn’t say anything, not for a long while.

But the moment he finishes and saves that particular lecture, he hears him again. “Would you come and play after exams, then?”

Semi pauses, glances at him over his shoulder.

(Muted panic rises in his chest, a dull listlessness weighs down his arms.)

“Maybe,” he hedges.

(He knows better. He can’t play.)

(He hasn’t set a ball in forever, hasn’t served in longer, but he knows he can’t do it.)

(Volleyball no longer brings him joy.)

Kenma nods. “I’ll go, then. Do you want to come for dinner some time?”

“Maybe.” He’s worried now, about who will be present. He’s not ready to deal with people, not after his abstinence from social interaction. “Who would be there?”

“Futakuchi, maybe Kuro, maybe Koutarou.”

“Let me know, and if I’m done studying, I’ll come over.”

“’Kay.” Kenma waves a little as he lets himself out. Even he knows that it’s not worth staying, and the thought makes Semi smile bitterly.

He stretches and picks up his water bottle, shaking the sleep out of his head.

No one has time to sleep, especially with so much to do.

x.x.x.x.x

The exam is a lot harder than he thought he would be, and he’s glad that one of his acquaintances wanted to run over some questions beforehand, because those questions had appeared in the exam.

(He probably got them all wrong, but he doesn’t care.)

(He has about 36 hours to prepare for his next exam, and he wants to die already.)

His phone buzzes, and he opens it to find a message from Kenma.

 **[Kenma]:** Dinner tonight?

 **[Eita]:** Only if it’s short

 **[Eita]:** Last exams soon, I need to prep

 **[Kenma]:** dw, it’ll be fast

 **[Eita]:** What time?

 **[Kenma]:** 6.30?

 **[Eita]:** k, I’ll come over

He wonders how much studying he can squeeze in before he leaves, though he’s sure he’ll spend it procrastinating instead.

(He does spend it procrastinating, but he feels so dead that he doesn’t care.)

He knocks on Kenma’s door a little before the stipulated time, unsurprised when Futakuchi answers it. The brunet grins at him and launches into a list of complaints about his own exam and how _nerve-wrecking, anxiety-inducing_ and _stressful_ it was, and how it _shaved 10 years off my life_.

Semi listens to him with half a smile, amused with his shenanigans and relieved at the distraction it brings.

His smile just about slides off his face when they reach the kitchen and he spots the other two people there, because _he has not prepared for this_ and _he’s not ready to deal with this yet_.

Shirabu doesn’t even look at him, so he supposes that’s a good thing.

What’s not so good, he thinks, is how Futakuchi is trying _very hard_ to get them to talk to each other.

“Shirabu, stop staring a hole into the table and be more social.”

“You’re being social enough for both of us,” the brunet replies, eyes never leaving his notes. “I don’t need to do anything.”

“You could help me with serving the food.”

“Yes, _that_ I could.”

Futakuchi grumbles in the background, but doesn’t press the issue.

Semi feels like fainting.

He somehow makes it through dinner without making much conversation, other than replying when being spoken to, and complimenting Kenma’s cooking. It’s not as tense as he expected it to be, though he does notice that Shirabu is pointedly ignoring him.

(It’s not a surprise to him, and it is somewhat relieving to not have to make conversation, since he doesn’t know what to say.)

He’s the first to volunteer to wash up after the meal, and Kenma quietly joins him, leaving the bickering of the other two behind.

The sound of the water isn’t loud enough to hide their voices, so he can’t fake deafness when Kenma says, “You can’t avoid it forever.”

Semi scrubs at a stubborn stain, refusing to reply.

Kenma takes the clean dish from him, wiping it dry and setting it aside. “Eita.”

“Hmm?”

“Talk to Shirabu.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Have you tried?”

“Yeah.”

(Once or twice, with awkwardly phrased words, receiving curt answers, and being too cowed to try again.)

Kenma is quiet for a bit more, and nearly all the dishes are clean when he tries a second time. “How do you know he doesn’t want to talk to you?”

He can’t control the frantic, choked chuckle that slips out. “He’s been ignoring me for nearly two months.”

“But…”

“But nothing,” he whispers, because the water is now off, and the other two could eavesdrop if they wanted to. “If he doesn’t want to talk to me, there’s really nothing I can do about it. I’ll just move out next semester or something.”

“I could ask him what’s wrong for you.”

“No, it’s all right.” The panic is back, because he doesn’t want Kenma to know, doesn’t want _anybody_ to know. It was a dumb reason to be fighting, yet he can’t seem to get over it. “I’ve done my best already. He’ll talk to me when he’s ready. It’s just how he is.”

Kenma looks slightly unconvinced, but doesn’t press him for more.

(Yet.)

(He knows he wants to know, wants to help, so he will badger him later, or send someone else to do it.)

(Sometimes, he wishes Kenma wasn’t such a good friend.)

He announces his departure as they re-join the others, and Futakuchi complains loudly when he says he needs to study.

“Come on, one day of not studying won’t kill you–”

“I have 35 chapters to revise and each will take me at least half an hour.” Semi doesn’t mention the huge amounts of procrastination that is sure to happen. “I definitely need to study.”

“I should go too.” Shirabu pushes away from the table, and their eyes lock, holding a second longer than they have in two months. “My second last exam is tomorrow, I need to finish revising.”

Futakuchi clicks his tongue at the both of them, but Semi catches the quick glance he shares with Kenma. He feels a little miffed that they are both working against him, but he can’t really blame them.

Their goodbyes are said too fast, and then they are trudging back to their dorm, the silence sharp, menacing.

They are almost there when the fragile soundlessness finally breaks, but it’s not as dramatic as he thought it would be.

“Do you want to stay up studying with me later?”

An olive branch, a proposition of a truce.

Semi nods. “Sure.”

Shirabu exhales lowly, slowing to a stop, and Semi turns to face him.

(His eyes are sharp, accusing, hazel boring into cocoa.)

“I know I've been even more unsociable lately, and I’m a little sorry about that.”

_‘Even more unsociable' doesn’t cut it, but okay._

“But I was still a little mad at you over _that_ thing.”

“I’m sorry,” Semi tells him, hoping he sounds sincere. “I truly didn’t know.”

Shirabu rubs at his neck, looking at a point above his shoulder instead of at him. “Is it weird that I trust you when you say that?”

“Sort of.” Semi tries for a smile, though he thinks it falls short. “I didn’t think you trusted me at all.”

“After what happened? I’m surprised I still do.”

Semi exhales loudly, steeling himself. “Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened. If I could turn back time and undo it, I would. I had no idea, and I feel really guilty.”

Shirabu looks at him strangely. “Why would you feel guilty if you didn’t do it on purpose?”

“Because doing something like that by accident feels just as bad as if I had done it on purpose. I don’t want to do that to anyone, and I’m sorry that I did it to you.”

Shirabu purses his lips. “It’s alright, I guess. I’m mostly over it. I trust you when you said you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Being dishonest isn’t in my morals, and I would _never_ have done it on purpose. But still, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” Shirabu rubs at his face, looking suddenly tired. “I’m going to believe that you didn’t, and let’s move past this, alright? We have more exams to deal with.”

“Alright.” He doesn’t feel better about it at all, but it makes him feel lighter, now that he’s tried to explain his point of view. “Shall we?”

The brunet turns to lead the way, and he follows, the tiniest bit of the burden lifted from his heart.

…of course, one apology doesn’t make everything better in an instant.

They are the tiniest bit friendlier to each other now, though he still feels nervous, on tenterhooks around him.

(He doesn’t believe him completely when he says he’s not mad at him, because he’s been around Shirabu enough to know that he can hold a grudge forever.)

(Their combined study session is more of a self-study marathon with someone sitting beside them, poking each other awake and complaints about the number of chapters to go.)

(But it feels slightly less tense than the previous months, and he’ll take what he can get.)

x.x.x.x.x

It’s not until after his last exam that he feels like he can breathe again, even though he’s certain he flunked it.

There’s something about the end of exams, the end of months of stress, that leaves him drained and empty. He flops onto his bed and stares at the ceiling, tension sapping away, and wonders what he should do next.

The room door slams open and he twists his head to face it, only half-interested.

Shirabu looks surprised to see him. “I thought you’d be out celebrating the end of your exams.”

“With what friends?” Semi asks him drily. “I’ve become a recluse in the last few months.”

“I think Futakuchi’s done with his. I know Kenma’s definitely done.”

“Futakuchi’s in almost all your classes, he can’t be done.”

“Uh, well, yeah,” Shirabu looks suddenly sheepish, before his face resets to forced neutral. “Could I kick you out anyway?”

“That’s polite.” Semi sighs and swings his legs off the bed. “Yeah, I’ll go ask Kenma if he wants to game or something.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there a reason you want me out?” Semi tosses his jacket over his shoulder, picking up his bag with his free hand. His next words are stilting, awkward with his lack of surety as they are birthed. “If you’re having someone over, you could just say so.”

The brunet looks a little red, he thinks. “Well, yeah.”

Semi feels a small smile tilt his lips up; a sliver of apprehension lances him as he tries for a joke. “Should I not come back tonight at all?”

Shirabu’s sudden spluttering has him laughing, and it lifts his mood a lot more than he cares to admit. “Okay, okay, before 11?”

“How about 12?”

“Or I could just stay at Kenma’s…”

_“Don’t imply things.”_

“Don’t forget to actually study,” he teases, exhaling round his sudden lightness, edging around him to get out. “Good luck.”

He doesn’t hear his reply – if there is any – and walks towards the stairs with half a smile, daring to nurse the hope that their relationship – friendship? – can be salvaged.

x.x.x.x.x

He doesn’t know what set it off, but he feels like he’s staring down the barrel of a gun.

‘Metaphorically’.

_The quiet patter of fingers on a keyboard, doubled and beating out of time. Two sets of hands play at the falsehood of a tune as they lie engrossed in their own worlds, discordant harmonies._

_The companionable not-quiet, suddenly split open._

_“Why did Shirabu kick you out?”_

He never replied, he realises, in the true silence, with cat eyes appraising him over the top of the laptop.

“He didn’t,” he hedges. “I left of my own will.”

(They both know it’s more of a question than a statement.)

Kenma tilts his head at him. “He had someone over.”

“Why would you ask if you already know?”

The blond stares at him, unblinking. “I wanted to know if you knew who he’s seeing.”

_Who he’s seeing._

Shirabu was seeing someone?

He shakes his head; it feels slow, like he’s submerged in treacle. “I don’t.”

_I don’t know what he’s up to, anymore._

Kenma slouches, sinking back behind his screen. He takes that as a signal that the conversation is over, but his fingers feel out of place on the keys, and his focus is gone.

“Go back early.”

“That’s not polite,” he murmurs, more to his dying character than his friend. “If he’s having his partner over, he ought to have the privacy he wants.”

“It’s your room too.”

“I said I’d be back after 12.”

“It’s your room, too.”

“Kenma.”

“Eita.”

“Do you have a point in all this?”

“Maybe.”

A sudden weight on his back, and the powdery smell nearly makes him sneeze. “His point is, go back and find out who this fella is.”

“Why are _you_ invested in this?” He asks Futakuchi, and feels the slight movement that could be a shrug.

“I’m curious.”

“He’s nosy.”

“Kenma, you don’t have the right to say that to me.”

“We’re nosy.”

“Say curious, it makes it less incriminating.”

“You mean neither of you know who’s this mysterious person he’s seeing?” Semi asks, amazed. “I thought he was only not on talking terms with _me_.”

He sees Kenma’s eyes lift, and almost feels the look the roommates are exchanging over his head.

“He wasn’t telling anyone.”

“We weren’t even sure there _was_ a someone.”

“But now we know there is, so…”

“You two are incorrigible,” Semi tells them. “I’m not doing it.”

Kenma shrugs. “We’ll find out eventually.”

“Yeah, because he’s a rambling drunk.”

“Get him over when his exams are done.”

“Oh, you bet I will~”

Semi shakes his head at them and turns back to his game. It’s not his problem to deal with.

“So, why is it a partner and not a him or her?”

…but Futakuchi insists on it becoming his problem, it seems.

Semi almost tells him, before remembering that it isn’t common knowledge. “I’m not explaining this if he didn’t already tell you.”

“Aww, why not? It’s nothing big.”

He reaches up and gently knocks Futakuchi on the head. “I’m not outing anyone without their permission.”

(It’s over, it’s over, it’s in the past–)

(But it still haunts him, a mistake he can never be rid of.)

(Gold eyes appraise him over the edge of the laptop, a tiny question in them, and he can’t hold their gaze.)

The brunet is oddly silent before he slides off his back. “Okay. That’s fair.”

Semi raises his eyebrows after him, but Kenma only shrugs.

It seems that they _can_ come to an agreement, sometimes.

(And though he pretends, _he pretends_ , he can see the slight understanding forming in Kenma’s eyes, and he thinks he knows.)

(How he was privy to information that his roommate isn’t supposed to know, that no one else should know.)

(Semi can’t look at him anymore, for fear of finding an accusation there.)

x.x.x.x.x

He can’t stop thinking about it now that he’s alone – a partner? Who? What? _How??_ – and now he’s five minutes earlier than he thought he would be.

He sighs and unlocks the door loudly, hoping it is enough to announce his presence. “I’m home.”

There is no _Welcome back_ , and he peeks around the door to see an empty bed, a desk full of scattered notes and an empty spot where his roommate’s shoes would usually be.

_Well, then._

He shuts the door quietly and snaps a picture of the empty room, sending it to his nosy friends.

…hopefully they wouldn’t bother him about it.

His phone vibrates with twin messages, and he rolls his eyes before throwing it on to his bed.

_Too much to hope for, it seems._

**[Futakuchi]:** I DEMAND TO KNOW WHO THE MYSTERIPIS PERSON IS N WJERE THEYVE GONE

 **[Kenma]:** look 4 clues

 **[Semi]:** come over and search yourself then

 **[Eita]:** too much effort

(Not just too much effort, but too much commitment, too much pain.)

(They promised a truce, to keep out of the way, to keep past matters in the past.)

(But now it’s rising to the surface, a bloated corpse, and he can’t ignore its foul presence.)

_Short breaths, unrestrained panting, grunts and high-pitched keening. The vicious press of lips, teeth and tongue fighting for control._

_Both battling to come out on top, fighting a war that has already been lost._

_This is their consolation prize._

He sighs and runs a hand over his face, pressing down on his eyes, relishing in the sharp sparks of colour.

He would not go there again. The past is the past.

(Except it isn’t, when he looks to the unmade bed that isn’t his, the sprawl of notes on the other side of the room.)

(The past is here, and nostalgia is a living being, breathing down his neck.)

Semi steps carefully towards the mess, picking up notes and straightening things, eyes not lingering on things he was not meant to see.

But once he is done, his fingers linger by the unmade bed, skin trailing over fabric, ridiculous hopes rising.

In a second of bad decisions, he sits. Pulls the pillow towards himself, burying his face in its plushy surface.

_Camellia and laundry detergent._

_Familiar, familiar._

_Haunting._

He smiles wryly, a little sadly, and lowers the pillow, replacing it on the bed. Smooths out the indent of his face, straightening the covers.

He gathers his things for a shower, and does not look back.

(Cannot look back, refuses to look back.)

_A memory of hands pressing together, palm to palm. Fingers intertwining, briefly._

_The whisper of a promise._

_“It means nothing.”_

_“Don’t remember this.”_

…but he can’t forget, not the events that came before, or the ones after.

He can’t forget his only solace in _those_ times, and how it shaped him differently.

(Perhaps he should, perhaps he should, but in truth, he’d never give up those memories.)

(It’s too late to turn back.)


	5. You Are In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and after 6 months, I reappear with a 10k chapter in tow  
>  (it really only took me a month to write this)

_“Do you want to go see that movie tomorrow?”_

“The action one?”

_“You don’t even know its name.”_

He laughs at the accusatory tone in his friend’s voice. “I’m not very caught up on what’s showing.”

_“Fine. So, wanna go?”_

“Sure.” Shirabu rolls over onto his stomach, fingering the edge of his blanket. “Let me know the time, I’ll be there.”

_“I’ll check the timing and let you know.”_

“Sure. See you then.”

The line clicks off after Iwaizumi says his goodbyes, and even after Shirabu sets his phone down, he can’t stop grinning.

He grabs his pillow to hide his smile in it, but it doesn’t work very well, and he ends up grabbing his phone again. He crosses and uncrosses his ankles as he composes a new text, making too many errors in his hurry.

**[Kenjirou]:** GUESS WHOS GOING TO A MOVIE WITH IWA-SAN TMR

His phone buzzes with a reply almost immediately, and he grins.

**[Taichi]:** oh, i coulfnt possibly guess

The sarcastic reply doesn’t deter him.

**[Kenjirou]:** Yeah, yeah, you’re salty I get it

**[Taichi]:** i m so much closer 2 getting a bf than u r

**[Kenjirou]:** lies

**[Taichi]:** only truths

**[Kenjirou]:** Forgive me if I don’t trust you

**[Taichi]:** u trusted me? when?

**[Kenjirou]:** asshat

**[Taichi]:** douchenugget

**[Kenjirou]:** I hate you and your tall ass

**[Taichi]:** my ass isnt tall, the rest of me is

**[Kenjirou]:** Spectacular. Like I needed to know that

**[Taichi]:** o I kno im spectacular.

**[Kenjirou]:** goodbye

**[Taichi]:** guees who else thinks im spectacular

**[Kenjirou]:** Not interested in ur love life

**[Taichi]:** but u want deets on my sex life n im happy 2 oblige

**[Kenjirou]:** NO THANKS

Shirabu is about to throw his phone across the room when it starts vibrating, and he curses the name on his screen.

“Taichi, _no.”_

_“Taichi, yes.”_ His best friend snickers, and Shirabu collapses onto his pillow, groaning.

_“So as I was saying, I am_ this much _closer to getting a boyfriend than you are.”_

“No one said I’m not making progress.” Shirabu mumbles to his pillow.

_“That pretty much confirms that you’re not.”_

“Look here, I’m trying–”

_“Try harder.”_

“Oi, not all of us are like you.”

_“Hmm, I suppose I could share some of my charm with you.”_

“Ew. Go back to the bin you came from.”

_“Rude.”_

“Only the best for you,” he croons, and laughs at the dry retching from the other end of the line.

The door creaks open, and he tosses a careless _Welcome back_ over his shoulder, half-listening to Kawanishi’s semi-serious cursing.

“Is that Taichi?” An amused voice asks, and Shirabu doesn’t bother to glance up before putting his friend on speaker.

_“–you are absolutely hopeless and I hope you never get together with someone, for the sake of their sanity–”_

Semi bursts into laughter, and the voice on the other end comes to an abrupt halt.

_“Kenjirou, I’m going to kill you. Stop putting me on speaker.”_

“Come to Tokyo and fight me, I dare you.”

_“I’ll book a ticket right now, see if I don’t–”_

“Mmhmm. I’ll let you know if the part of me that cares comes back from war.”

_“You suck.”_

“No more than you do.”

_“On the contrary, I probably get a lot more sucking action than you do–”_

Shirabu chokes and promptly turns the speaker off while Semi howls with laughter.

\-----

Semi has entered and left the room three different times, two hours have passed, and Shirabu is _still on the phone._

He never thought Kawanishi had it in him to talk for that long.

He’s settling down with a book when he hears “–yeah, of course I’ll tell you all about it. And send you spoilers.”

A pause, and a burst of laughter, possibly at Kawanishi's indignation. “You do it to me all the time, asshole. It’s about time I got payback.

“Mmhmm. Right. I do no such thing, stop spreading lies about me.”

Semi begins to think that he should just listen in instead of reading. Shirabu and Kawanishi’s conversations are more amusing than a soap opera, and infinitely more interesting than his book.

“Whatever. I’m going to shower, my phone’s burning my ear off. Mm. Right. Bye.”

Shirabu tosses the phone aside and collapses on his pillow, and Semi tries very hard to immerse himself in his book.

(He gets called out anyway.)

“How long were you actually listening to us talk?”

Semi glances up, but Shirabu isn’t looking at him. It looks like he’s trying to suffocate himself with the pillow, and Semi wonders what brought that on. “Is that really a question? I walked in and out thrice and you were on the phone for _two hours._ ”

“Hnn.” His roommate rolls over, removing himself from the possibility of suffocation, and regards him with his head on his hand. “So how much did you hear?”

“Do I look like I would really remember everything that you two were talking about–”

“Badly phrased question.” Shirabu cuts him off with a wave of his free hand. “How nosy do you want to be, before I forget whatever Taichi said?”

“Why, thank you for thinking of me and including me in the sharing of your deep, dark secrets.”

“Bye.” Shirabu rolls off the bed and heads for his dresser, while Semi snickers behind him.

“Okay, okay, I was kidding. I was curious about one thing.”

Shirabu looks up from a half-closed drawer, raising an eyebrow at him to continue.

“You’re watching a movie sometime?”

“Oh, yeah.” A hint of a smile tilts Shirabu’s lips up, right before he schools his face back into neutrality. “Tomorrow. Not sure what time yet.”

“Oh, nice. Have fun.” He smiles.

“Why do you want to know?”

“You said I could be nosy.”

“You’re never nosy without reason,” Shirabu counters, walking back to perch on the edge of his bed, his toiletries balanced on his knees. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Semi protests. “Can I not be curious about what 'spoilers' might mean without a reason?”

“No.”

“Suck it up then. There’s no other reason.”

“You’re such a pain.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Ugh.” Shirabu heads towards the room door. “Bye.”

“I’ll still be here when you get back, you know.”

“Ew. Don’t remind me.”

Semi laughs a little as the door clicks shut behind him, putting their conversation out of mind as he finally starts reading.

\-----

Semi's phone buzzes, and he grins at the message.

It’s been a while since he heard from this friend.

He opens up the text, composing a reply, ignoring the creak as the door opens.

“What are you smiling at?”

“A friend is in Tokyo.” He continues replying to the person, snickering at their responses.

“Ooh, exciting. I didn’t know you had friends.”

Semi throws a spare pillow in his direction, uncaring if it hits its target or not.

Shirabu catches the pillow with a huff, hugging it to himself as he rubs his towel over his hair with his other hand. “Am I allowed to know who this mysterious friend is?”

“Since you were so rude, no.” Semi puts his phone down and picks his book back up, smirking at him. “Besides, you have mysterious friends too.”

“Touché.” Shirabu doesn’t comment further. He’s not ready to share the identity of his 'mysterious friend’ just yet.

He can hear the little vibrations as Semi gets new messages, but opts to tune him out as he turns their hair dryer on. It feels good to dry his hair even though they are in the heat of summer, and he shakes his dried hair out to rid it of the excess heat.

“I’m never going to get over how fluffy your hair is,” he hears. Shirabu rolls his eyes, though he knows his roommate can’t see it.

“Semi-san, you can’t _really_ be talking to me about fluffy hair.”

“I believe I just did.”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Does the reflection on my phone screen count?”

Semi laughs as Shirabu throws his pillow back at him with another roll of his eyes. “Okay, okay, geez. I have a serious question now.”

“Oooh, scary.”

“Shut _up_ , Semi-san.”

“Come over here and make me.”

“Oh, gladly.”

Shirabu stalks the two strides across their room and grabs the pillow, but Semi keeps a hold on it, already guessing what he’s about to do.

They grapple back and forth for some time before Semi’s grip suddenly slackens, and Shirabu tumbles atop him. But then the pillow is up in his face, smothering _him_ instead, and a push on his shoulder unbalances him enough that he gets rolled over, a muffled laugh above him.

“Yield,” he hears Semi say, but with his mouth full of pillow, Shirabu can only shove against it in hope of a gulp of air.

The grip on the pillow slackens as he knew it would, Semi pulling it back to allow him to breathe. Shirabu shoves weakly against his roommate, trying to dislodge him from where he and the pillow are crushing his chest. “Can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can,” Semi says, but the pressure eases up anyway. It’s just enough for Shirabu to push the ash blond off and sit up, blocking the pillow when it comes for him again.

They push against each other, the pillow squashed between them, neither gaining an inch.

“Give up.”

“Never.”

“Then I guess you won’t be sleeping with this pillow tonight.”

“I have a spare, don’t worry.”

“I’ll pummel you with this.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Maybe you’re right. Too much mess to clean up.”

“I knew it. You're too lazy to clean up your normal mess, how are you going to clean up if you murder me?”

“I’ll just get someone else to murder you for me,” Shirabu says simply. “And I don’t have a ‘normal mess’, you do!”

“I don’t have that many enemies,” Semi counters, choosing to ignore the latter half of what Shirabu said.

“You’d never know.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“Did you expect anything less?”

“No,” Semi admits. “But then again, I never take puffballs seriously.”

“Puffball–!”

“Look in a mirror, Shirabu.” Semi gives him a huge shove, his grin half-hidden by the pillow. The action pushes his roommate to the edge of the bed, and his hand shoots out to muss up Shirabu’s hair such that it sticks up even more. “Come back when you look more serious.”

“I’m always serious,” the brunet complains, smacking away the hand and trying to smooth the strands down. But he does get off Semi's bed to return to his own, flopping down and pulling the blanket over himself. “I refuse to talk to you any more.”

“Good riddance.”

Shirabu lifts his head to glare at him. “I will murder you myself, one day.”

“But that day is not today,” Semi guesses. The stony glare Shirabu gives him confirms this, and he snickers as he moves to turn off the light. “Well, whatever. I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow, I can’t stay up and argue with you.”

“Thank god,” Shirabu mutters. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Semi pulls his blanket over his shoulders, smiling into the darkness as he relives their tussle.

Living with Shirabu can be fun, sometimes.

\-----

Semi doesn’t notice him until he’s nearly on top of him, chocolate eyes boring into cocoa, staring, staring, waiting for a reaction.

Semi takes a step back and exhales deeply. “Koushi, could you maybe _not_ do that?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Suga laughs. They fall into step together, heading towards the shops. “Can’t resist, you know? There’s not many people I can sneak up on.”

“I suppose Sawamura isn’t affected by it?”

“Daichi is so placid,” Suga complains. “He never reacts to anything I do.”

_“Anything?”_

“Well…”

“Nope,” Semi says, putting his palm up in Suga's face. “I know that look. I don’t need any dirty details, thanks.”

Suga shrugs and grins. “Your loss. But you started it.”

“What can I say? You’re a bad influence.”

Suga gasps in mock-affront, putting a hand over his heart. “Eita, how dare you. I have the purest heart–”

“And the dirtiest mind.”

“You got me.” Suga drops his hand and the pretence, his grin wide. “Glad to know you haven’t changed.”

“And you.” Semi laughs.

“Anyway, how've you been?”

“Eh.” He shrugs. “Ups and downs. School life, you know?”

Suga nods. “As it is with all of us. But you know, other than school, what’s up?”

“…we met two minutes ago and you’re already asking for details on my love life?”

“You’re right, I should have asked _immediately._ ”

Semi rolls his eyes. “You really haven’t changed.”

“Nor do you want me to.”

“Touché.”

“So, so? Give me the details.” Suga nudges him as he steers them towards a bookshop, and Semi laughs.

“Nothing's happened. I’m too busy for a love life. My roommate is irritating, but other than that, every other part of my life is fine.”

“Ah, right. Everyone’s younger than you in your year, aren’t they?”

“Most people, yes. Would you believe that I ended up becoming friends with a few of the volleyball players we used to meet at tournaments?”

“Wow. Some luck. Who?”

“Nekoma’s second year setter and Datekou's second year captain. I think he was a middle blocker?”

“You mean when we were third years and they were second years?” Suga asks.

“Yes, yes. I keep forgetting that they became the third years after us.”

“You’re old,” his silver-haired friend teases. “Datekou’s captain, huh? I think he was a wing spiker.” Suga hums as he thinks, tapping his chin. “Yeah. Wing spiker.”

His gaze lifts, and he gives Semi an amused smile. “Kozume-kun and Futakuchi-kun, huh? What unlikely friends.”

“I know right? Wait, you know them too?”

“Kozume-kun is from Nekoma,” Suga reminds him. “Nekoma and Karasuno are ‘fated rivals’. And Datekou is a Miyagi school, same as ours. We used to have practice matches with them.”

“Come to think of it, Kenma might have told me the same thing about your schools a long time ago.”

“Oooh, first name basis. How scandalous.” Suga wiggles his eyebrows, and Semi punches his shoulder lightly. “I’ll tell Hinata, he’ll be so sad that he wasn’t told about this development.”

The ash blond rolls his eyes. “We’re not that kind of friends.”

“Bah. You’re no fun, Eita.”

“You just like gossip.”

“Now, now, let’s not go making false accusations.” Suga shakes a finger at him, a mischievous look on his face. “Tell me more about your uni life instead!”

Semi rolls his eyes and grins. He’s missed Suga’s antics. “Fine. I’ll indulge you. Where was I?”

“I don’t know. Something about your roommate?”

“Right!” Semi snaps his fingers, the words coming back to him. “So, fate decided that I'm not tormented enough and now I’m stuck with Shirabu as a roommate.”

“Shirabu… Isn’t he that underclassman of yours?”

“The one and only.” Semi rolls his eyes. “I must have offended too many people in my past life.”

“Tough luck.” Suga pats him on the arm. “Is he as awful as he was?”

“He has his good and bad days.” Semi pauses, before a smirk creeps across his face, a thought coming to mind. “Although recently, he's been very secretive about some friends of his.”

“Oh?” Suga leans in, eyes glinting.

“And apparently, he has a partner, whom none of our mutual friends know about.”

_“Oh.”_ His friend nods knowingly. “Very curious.”

“And _apparently,_ they’re catching a movie some time today.”

“What? Why didn’t you say so earlier? Let’s go find out who this mysterious partner is!” Suga is suddenly ten times more energetic and tries to drag him out of the bookstore, but Semi pulls him back.

“We don’t know where they went,” he points out, to which Suga rolls his eyes.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll find out.”

“Aren’t we kind of violating his privacy by doing this?”

“You wouldn’t have told me if you didn’t want to violate his privacy at least a little,” Suga points out, phone already to his ear. He holds up a finger, turning his attention to the person he called. “Hi Tooru-chan. We need a favour.”

_Tooru-chan?_

“Did I say 'we'? My bad, you don’t need to know who my partner in crime is today.” Suga pauses, brow furrowing at something the other person said. “Can’t help me? Just what sort of important mission are you up to that you would deny me, your best friend– Wow, you’ve got nerve. Iwaizumi’s gonna kill you if he finds out.”

Semi follows in amusement as Suga weaves between bookshelves, talking to someone whom he assumes is Oikawa. “A date? Are you certain? Well then, who’s this mysterious figure? You don’t know? Wow, the great Oikawa Tooru, stumped at last!”

Suga suddenly stops, a hand over his mouth. “No. No _way._ Oh man, this is too good. Text me your address, we’ll be right there. Why? I’m coming with you, you dense coconut! Plus, this is the perfect scenario for all of us. What? Then go buy tickets! Get three, we’ll be right over. Hurry up, Tooru, don’t lose him now. Bye.”

Suga turns around, then takes a step back, eyes wide at Semi’s close proximity. “Gee, you scared me. But anyway, come on! We’ve got a movie to catch.”

“What? A movie? Koushi, tell me what happened!”

“I’ll tell you on the way.” Suga grabs his wrist and drags him along. “So my informant–”

“Oikawa.”

“Yes, dear old Tooru-chan. He was stalking Iwaizumi to find out who he was going out with and refused to help me, but what do you know?” Suga levels a sly grin at Semi. “The person we’re stalking just so happens to be the one Iwaizumi’s meeting up with.”

Semi stares at him blankly, and Suga uses a finger to close his hanging jaw. “You’ll catch flies. Lots of them, because it’s summer.”

“We’re in a shopping mall, there are no flies here,” Semi replies. “Are you serious, though?”

“About what Tooru-chan said? Yeah, he sounded dumbstruck. I’m pretty sure it is real.”

Semi shakes his head. He doesn’t know if he’s more confused or stunned to finally have the last piece of the puzzle. “Shirabu’s going out with _Iwaizumi_?”

“Only one way to find out, don’t you think?” Suga grins. “Come on, I just got the text, it’s the next mall over.”

\-----

Oikawa is on his phone and tapping his foot impatiently when they spot him. He’s poorly disguised with a white hoodie over a neon pink shirt, coupled with teal bermudas. The sunglasses on his head seem to be slipping, and he pushes them back just as Semi and Suga approach him.

“Tooru-chan. What the hell are you wearing?”

“Clothes, Koushi-chan, clothes.” Oikawa glances up from his device, then does a double-take. “Semi-chan?”

“Nice to see you too, Oikawa,” he replies drily.

Oikawa shakes his head, causing the sunglasses to fall onto his nose. “Nope. Nuh-uh. You said nothing about your partner in crime being _him._ ”

“ _He_ is standing right here. And he’s coming with us.”

“No.”

“Yes. No one’s interested in Iwaizumi’s chastity here except you, Tooru-chan. I’ll pay you back later, let’s go catch up with the lovebirds first.” Suga puts his hands on Oikawa’s shoulders and spins him around, pushing him towards the cinema.

Oikawa’s hands flail, making several pointless gestures before they stop dead, falling to his sides. “Wait, you’re here to stalk _Shirabu-chan_?”

“I have a vested interest in what my roommate does,” Semi tells him. “What Iwaizumi does is none of my business.”

“If the two of them are really on a date, then it’s Iwa-chan's business as well, no?”

“And that’s why, friends, we are here to stalk them and find out, yes?” Suga slings an arm around both of them, easily dragging them along though both are taller than him. “Now come _on._ This is prime blackmail material. Tooru-chan, which hall is it?”

“Seven. Wait, wrong direction, that’s the other way.”

With a lot more hustling and bustling and whispered arguments about their extremely pure intentions for following their friends, they make it to the movie theatre, only to find that their seats are at the bottom.

“Tooru-chan, how the heck are we supposed to spy on anyone from the _bottom_?” Suga whispers ferociously.

“Those were the only seats left!” Oikawa whisper-shouts back.

Semi sighs and pushes on their backs. “Just go. Keep an eye out for them as we walk, we don’t want to be spotted.”

Suga twists to wiggle his eyebrows at him. “Eita, you’re learning.”

“I don’t want Shirabu to spot us and start yelling. Not that that’s likely, but you’d never know.”

“Iwa-chan might lob something at me,” Oikawa says thoughtfully. “Best to just go.”

The theatre is already dark, the advertisements rolling. It’s hard to pick out individuals, but Semi thinks that he might have seen someone with Iwaizumi’s spiky haircut on the left upper side of the hall. He points this out to the others only when they’re seated, and the way the duo immediately spin back to check makes him groan. “You two are _so_ not subtle.”

“Shut up, Semi-chan,” Oikawa mutters distractedly. “I don’t see anything.”

“It’s dark, my eyes may be playing tricks on me.”

“So helpful.” Oikawa turns back around, folding his arms and levelling a haughty stare at him. “Why are you here, again?”

“Not for the furthering of _your_ agenda, that’s for sure.”

“Shh,” Suga hisses. “Even if we can’t find them, we can watch the movie. Sometimes the best part happens after movies.”

“He’s right,” Oikawa says. “Iwa-chan’s not the sort to do anything during a movie, he likes watching them too much. He won’t even let me comment during the showing!”

“I can see why,” Semi mutters. Oikawa makes no comment, and the ash blond hopes that it’s just because he didn’t hear him.

The movie is not bad, though it would have been a lot better without Oikawa’s excited murmuring. Semi can hardly focus on the dialogue with the running commentary beside him, and resolves to find the movie online at another time to rewatch.

Then the credits roll, Suga reaches over to tap his hand, and he suddenly remembers why they were all there.

The glow of the theatre screen is enough for him to make out Suga's gestured message: stay until the lights go up, and wait for Iwaizumi and Shirabu to leave before following them.

It sounds easy enough, and Semi leans back, eyes tracking the people streaming out, trying to pick out any silhouettes that look familiar.

He sees nothing of interest – there are individuals and families and the occasional couple, but he does not spot the two young men they are looking for leaving the movie theatre.

“Maybe they’re waiting for the after-credits,” Suga murmurs. “Everyone knows to wait for those.”

Oikawa snorts, motioning to those already leaving. “Not everyone, apparently.”

“Amateurs.”

“Precisely. Now, brilliant as I am, I have never missed an after-credit scene.”

“And yet, you can babble loud enough for the entire cinema to pinpoint your location.”

The trio spin round at the voice, eyes landing on a nonplussed Iwaizumi, Shirabu sitting impassively beside him. Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows at his best friend’s companions. “Oh, Sugawara, Semi. Nice to see you.”

Semi manages to croak out a _Hello_ , and Suga greets them sunnily. Iwaizumi nods to each of them in greeting before his gaze returns to Oikawa. “Oikawa, how did you manage to get them mixed up in your nefarious deeds?”

“I didn’t,” the brunet protests. “It was all– Mmprgh!”

Suga’s smile never wavers though one of his hands is clamped firmly over Oikawa’s mouth. “We were in the area, and a movie sounded like a great idea. We had no idea Tooru-chan was doing something evil.”

A snort draws their eyes to Shirabu. “Pardon me, Sugawara-san, but you’ll have to try harder than that to convince me.”

“Oh?”

Shirabu nods in Semi’s direction. “You brought Semi-san. That’s plenty suspicious.”

“I’m not a terrorist, brat. There’s nothing suspicious about this.”

“Anything you do is suspicious.”

“Excuse me,” Semi protests. He can hear Oikawa cackling beside him, and vaguely wonders when he removed the gag that was Suga’s hand. “I was just watching a movie with friends.”

“We're hardly friends, Semi-chan.” Oikawa reminds.

“Right. A friend and an annoying acquaintance.” Oikawa lets out a squawk at the description, and Suga laughs. Iwaizumi seems to be smiling.

“I don’t believe you.” Shirabu folds his arms, and Semi can hardly suppress his eye roll.

“Believe whatever you like. I have no cause to follow you.”

Shirabu pauses, head cocked as he turns over Semi’s words in his head. “Really…? Hmm. But no one said anything about being _followed_ , Semi-san.”

Semi presses his lips together tightly, refusing to say anything more. His guilty conscience doesn’t know what else he could say that wouldn’t sound incriminating.

“Hold the thought,” Oikawa interrupts, twisting back to face the screen. “After-credit scene.”

All five of them watch the scene in agreed-upon silence, Oikawa grabbing Suga to gush after it ends. Suga nods along but pushes him away. Oikawa is unperturbed, turning around to talk to Iwaizumi instead.

“Iwa-chan! Did you _see_ that? Do you know what it means? I can’t wait for the next part of the series!”

“That’s another half-year to wait.”

“I know!” Oikawa wilts, slumping on Suga's shoulder. “The _tragedy._ ”

Shirabu rolls his eyes, and Semi privately agrees. Oikawa is entirely too dramatic.

“Were you guys sitting behind us this entire time?”

The words come completely out of the blue, and Oikawa and Semi turn to stare at an unapologetic Suga, who doesn’t seem to care that they are facing down a dragon.

Iwaizumi snorts. “No, we came down during the credits. We had way better seats than you guys.” He jerks a thumb backwards, in the direction of the higher seats, but his raised eyebrows hold a question.

“It’s not my fault that all the good seats were taken!” Oikawa complains.

“Yet now all of us have sore necks thanks to you,” Semi says drily.

“You wanted to come along, you dug your own grave.” Oikawa’s smile is saccharine, and Semi has to wonder what it is that Suga sees in him. Aoba Jousai's ex-captain is even more aggravating than Shirabu.

“Yes, about that. Why did you guys follow us?” The Aggravating Underclassman’s expression is carefully blank.

“Now, now, Shirabu-kun, let’s not go making false accusations, shall we?” Suga is still cheerfully optimistic. “Maybe we just wanted to watch this movie.”

“ _Maybe?”_

“Whatever it is, it’s done now.” Iwaizumi raises his arms in a stretch, then slumps against the seat. “Do you guys want to get dinner?”

Everyone turns to stare at him, and he shrugs. “There wasn’t any real damage done, as far as I’m concerned. Just Oikawa being his usual, nosy self.”

“Iwa-chan!” The brunet sounds scandalised. “I have only the purest of intentions for your well-being!”

“I’m twenty, I don’t need your false worrying.”

“False–!”

“So,” Iwaizumi claps his hands together over Oikawa’s complaints and looks around at the others. “Dinner?”

\-----

“A bit ironic to be eating fast food, don’t you think?”

“Not really. We’re poor college students, and there are always seats in a fast food joint.”

“Hmm.”

Through some unfortunate luck in drawing lots, Semi has been elected to purchase their food alongside Iwaizumi. It shouldn’t have been awkward, but given his newfound knowledge, plus the tension that had never really dissolved from their high school days… Well, maybe he was mistaken. It was definitely awkward.

Semi turns around at the sound of Suga’s laugh, and Oikawa’s complaints that follow. Shirabu is sitting stonily between them, looking as though he wants to be anywhere but there.

“Semi.”

“Yes?” He turns back to Iwaizumi, who is wearing a curious look on his face.

“I know you’re the most honest of the three of you–” He jerks a thumb towards their friends, “So I’d like to ask: _Was_ Oikawa up to no good?”

Semi pretends to study the menu, dragging out the moment. He sighs after a second, the words bubbling out. “Truthfully, I’m not sure. I only heard Koushi’s side of the conversation, and all I can guess is that Oikawa was curious about who you were meeting up with, so he followed you.”

“I see.” Iwaizumi looks thoughtful. “You say you only heard Sugawara’s side of the conversation?”

Semi figures that nothing worse can happen even if he tells him. “Koushi called Oikawa to ask something, but one thing led to another and suddenly we were going to watch a movie. I’m not too sure how that happened.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Oikawa and Sugawara are masterminds together. I’m not surprised you got dragged into it, or that you’re not sure how it happened. It’s happened to me before.”

“Really?” Semi’s surprised. Iwaizumi doesn’t seem like the sort to be taken in by anyone’s deceit.

“It was the first time I met Sugawara outside of the court. Not an incident I’m particularly happy to recall.” Iwaizumi frowns at their friends, and as if sensing they are talking about him, Oikawa turns around and flashes his signature grin. In response, Iwaizumi turns away without acknowledging him, and Oikawa looks so affronted that Semi laughs.

“I’ve never seen Oikawa look so offended.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Spend more time with him and Sugawara together. Every other thing Sugawara says offends him.”

“Maybe his words hit a little too close to home.”

“Maybe. Their conversations sound mostly like shit talk to me.”

“Birds of a feather flock together, isn’t that what they say?”

“Oh yes. That’s probably it. No wonder they get along so well.”

It is their turn, and their conversation halts while they place their order and move aside to wait as it is prepared. Iwaizumi drums his fingers on the countertop, and Semi waits, feeling as though he knows what question he’s going to be asked. “Why did you follow Sugawara, once you realised what he was up to?”

Semi glances back at their friends, who are now throwing verbal insults at each other. Iwaizumi follows his eyes, and snorts a little. “Oh. Were you following Shirabu-kun?”

Semi’s a bit surprised at the suffix, but doesn’t comment, storing away that information for later. “I guess so. I have no reason to follow you, but I admit I was a bit curious about Shirabu being your companion.”

“Curious?”

“He never told anyone in our circle of friends that he knew you, so everyone jumped to conclusions about who he’s been going out with.”

“Going ou–? Oh.” A baffled look takes over Iwaizumi’s face, but he doesn’t get to comment, as their food arrives. They take a tray each and walk back to the table, steps slow to ensure nothing gets spilled.

“Semi.” Iwaizumi doesn’t look up from his path, though his words keep flowing. “You and your friends can rest assured that nothing is going on between us. We’re just friends.”

Semi snorts. “Even if you weren’t just friends, you would tell me that. But it’s your private business. There’s no need for you to tell anyone about it unless you want to.”

“Thank you. _That_ is something that Oikawa and Sugawara wouldn’t understand.”

“We can agree on that.”

Their arrival at the table is accompanied by loud rejoicing from Oikawa, with a slightly more subdued reaction from Suga. Shirabu nods his thanks as Semi passes his meal to him though he wrinkles his nose a little, and the ash blond responds by giving him a deadpan stare.

“You two remind me of someone,” Oikawa announces suddenly, pointing at them. “What’s with this silent communication, huh?”

“You just said it, pretty boy. _Silent communication_. You and Iwaizumi do that too.” Suga throws a fry at him, and Oikawa pops it into his mouth with a grin.

“Aha, but Iwa-chan and I grew up together. These two haven’t. I wonder _why_ they do that.” Oikawa wiggles his eyebrows at them, and Shirabu pins him with an unimpressed look.

“I live with Semi-san. At this point, he’s like the irritating older sibling I never wanted. Seeing him even more, in my own free time no less, is a horrific experience.”

“Watch your tongue,” Semi warns, mimicking Suga’s action and launching a fry at his roommate. “I’ll put bleach in your shampoo.”

“Save it for yourself, Semi-san. Your roots are showing.”

Suga and Oikawa burst into laughter while Semi throws more fries at Shirabu, and even Iwaizumi cracks a smile behind his burger.

Dinner passes by almost too quickly – insinuating comments and jibes thrown by Oikawa and Suga are countered either by Semi and Iwaizumi’s remarks or by Shirabu’s sharp quips. It’s almost fun, and Semi can feel himself relaxing as the evening wears on.

It’s been a while since he had this sort of easy camaraderie, especially with people his age. It’s nice.

They stay on mostly neutral topics – classes and friend groups and of course, volleyball. Semi finally learns that Oikawa and Iwaizumi go to a university pretty close to his and Shirabu’s, and they agree to ask for a practice match between campuses at some point. Their high school rivalry never did resolve, and it would be fun to settle scores now that they are in university.

“It wouldn’t be very fair to the other players, since they don’t know about the never ending feud between Seijou and Shiratorizawa.” Suga comments. “Everyone would wonder what the fuss is about.”

“It also wouldn’t be fair because we don’t have Ushijima-san any more,” Shirabu grumbles. “Semi-san is a setter, not a spiker.”

“Who said you’re going to be the setter?” Semi counters. “You can spike for once.”

“My spiking sucks!”

“Then work on it. Futakuchi can help you.”

“Ew, Futakuchi.” Shirabu wrinkles his nose, and everyone laughs.

“We still have Makki and Mattsun, so we have the advantage,” Oikawa crows. “See if your ragtag team can beat us now!”

“Do you think we can borrow Kuroo and Bokuto for this?” Semi mutters to Shirabu.

“Maybe, if they have free time.”

“I'll ask Kenma to ask.”

“You guys are cheating,” Suga quips, delighted. “Those two aren’t even from your university.”

“Koushi, _shh_.”

“Iwa-chan, stop them!”

“Hey, I can’t control this, don’t drag me into it.”

Their conversation derails from there. Semi and Shirabu spend so much time arguing between topics that Oikawa and Iwaizumi finally find out that not only do they attend the same university, they share a room. Oikawa pokes fun at Semi for needing to share a room – with his least favourite underclassman no less – and is promptly put in his place by both Iwaizumi and Suga when they reveal that he is sharing an apartment with three other people.

“An apartment is nothing compared to a room,” Semi argues. “You still have the advantage of more space. And privacy.”

“But Makki hogs the toilet _all the time_. Mattsun is always cooking and the whole apartment never stops smelling like baked goods. I swear, I never feel like eating cookies anymore!”

The brunet turns to Iwaizumi, who sips at his drink, never breaking eye contact. “And Iwa-chan thinks he’s my mum, as usual.”

“Someone has to make sure we get our deposit back.” Iwaizumi shrugs, then glances at the rest of them. “Do you know how much hair he leaves in the bathroom drain every day? It’s like living with a girl, I had no idea he had so much hair.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa squawks. “I am perfect! I do no such thing!”

“Oh, I know,” Suga nods, completely ignoring Oikawa. “The one time he stayed over at my house, my sister got scolded for the hair that he left in our bathroom drain.”

“How irresponsible of you, Oikawa-san. How could you let someone else take the fault for your bad manners?” Shirabu deadpans.

Oikawa launches into a tirade, cursing them and their false accusations, but everyone sees the half-smile on his face, and no one thinks he means it. Semi thinks his face is going to split from so much laughing, but he doesn’t mind. He can’t remember the last time he felt so carefree.

It’s not until later, when they’ve split into groups as they walk to the train station, that the conversation dies down. Where it was a raging river before, the straits have calmed, the rapids settling, trickling into smaller streams with gentler currents. Their pace is leisurely, comfortable, and it feels like the excitement of the day has finally caught up to them, lethargy weighing them down alongside the heaviness of their meal.

Oikawa’s not surging ahead for once, having chosen to hang back with Shirabu. The other three walk ahead, discussing something or the other.

Shirabu eyes the older boy a little suspiciously. It is not like him to be this quiet and contemplative, despite the excitement of their evening. Even during the days that their schools were rivals, he only remembers the other as this contemplative right before he launched an unexpected attack–

Oh, no.

“Shirabu-chan,” Oikawa quietly begins, eyes fixed on the distant figures of their friends, “What _are_ your intentions with Iwa-chan?”

Shirabu refuses to let his emotions show. The change of topic is abrupt, but he can’t say it was completely unexpected. He had been expecting someone to ask, at some point. “With all due respect, Oikawa-san, that’s none of your business.”

“It isn’t,” Oikawa agrees. “But as someone who had been in love with Iwa-chan before, I want to give you a bit of advice.”

Shirabu is too stunned to say anything, too taken aback by his candour and the easiness with which he speaks of such a topic. The lack of a response encourages Oikawa to continue. “Don’t get your hopes up, is what I want to say. Iwa-chan’s a great guy, but he sees most people as nothing more than friends. You’re going to be waiting a long time if you want him to consider you at all, and I think your affections are better spent elsewhere.”

“Oikawa-san,” Shirabu says slowly, “Thank you for your words, but what makes you think that I fancy Iwaizumi-san?”

Oikawa rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “Like I said, I was there once. That face you have around him is the same one that Makki and Mattsun told me I used to make whenever I spoke to Iwa-chan, and he’s my childhood friend. _Lovestruck._ ” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Maybe I’m wrong – I don’t think I am – but if you want to pursue him in that manner and you get rejected, just remember it’s not the end of the world.”

“Oikawa-san, I have had crushes before. I know what life after rejection feels like.”

The older grins slyly at him. “So you admit you like him?”

“I never said that. I just said I know what rejection feels like.”

“Mmhmm.” Oikawa smirks knowingly. “Of course you do. But again, a crush is a crush, and love is something more, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“Love is a lot easier than a crush,” Oikawa tells him. “No jittery feelings, just a blossoming warmth. It took me a long time to realise that, myself. But you know what? You’ll get there when you get there.”

“Yes.” Shirabu deadpans. “Thank you for your sagely advice.”

“You’re very welcome.” Oikawa winks and skips ahead. “Come on. I think they’ve found dessert!”

Their friends have indeed found an uncrowded ice cream shop, and they file inside, swarming the display. Shirabu's on the edge of their group, trying to peer at the flavours. He’s not short, but it’s difficult to see with the others blocking his view.

“What are you getting?”

He glances up at Iwaizumi, then turns back to frown at the glass. “I don’t know. Lychee looks interesting, but vanilla is always a safer choice.”

“Why don’t you ask for a sample, then? No point getting something that you wouldn’t like.”

“Good point.” He tries to catch the attention of the server, but Iwaizumi beats him to it. He takes the two spoons from the server with thanks, handing a spoon to Shirabu. “Here.”

“Thank you.” He bites off half the ice cream, artificial flavour exploding across his tongue. He wrinkles his nose, and Iwaizumi laughs around his own spoon.

“Not good?”

“Too sweet.” He eats the rest of the sample anyway, chewing sullenly on the plastic. “What was yours?”

“Blueberry. It’s good.”

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll try that.”

“I’ll ask for you.” Iwaizumi turns back to the server, while Shirabu reaches up to put the spoon in the bin provided.

There’s a nudge on his shoulder, and he turns, only to startle at the sight of a spoon in front of his face. Semi smirks, but shoves the spoon towards him. “You’ll like this one.”

Shirabu stares at the spoon and the teeth marks in the ice cream. “Did you already eat half of it?”

“Yeah, but I don’t like it and I think you would, so you eat it.”

“I am not your dustbin,” Shirabu complains, but closes his lips around the spoon. Semi lets it go, and Shirabu frowns at him around the burst of flavour. “Hey, this _is_ nice.”

“It’s sea salt with something or the other. Told you you’d like it.”

Shirabu grumbles at him and puts the spoon in the bin, accepting the new sample spoon from Iwaizumi. He thinks he hears Semi go back over to where Suga is calling him as he mulls over the new flavour.

“How is it?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Not bad. Maybe I’ll get this one and the other sea salt thing.”

“You must like ice cream a lot.”

“I don’t get to have it often, Iwaizumi-san. Stop judging my diet.” Shirabu huffs.

(The other doesn’t need to know how much he loves the sweet treat.)

Iwaizumi laughs. “No judgement. I watch Oikawa eat too much milk bread daily, it’s just second nature to watch out for others’ sugar intake.”

“Once in a while is fine,” Shirabu insists.

“Yes, that’s true. But how do I know that this is your first time in a while?”

Shirabu’s about to protest when he sees Iwaizumi’s lips twitch. “You’re teasing me.”

“Absolutely not,” the older says, but he’s grinning. Shirabu holds back his initial response, rolling his eyes instead.

After sampling almost all the flavours, everyone decides on what they want. Suga and Shirabu are elected to buy the ice cream while the others go get a seat.

The wait isn’t long, but as they watch the girl prepare their dessert, Suga asks, “Was Tooru-chan lecturing you about Iwaizumi?”

Shirabu stares at him. He had just pushed that conversation to the back of his mind, and here it was being brought up again.

(He should have expected it, but at the same time, he had been hoping that it wouldn’t be brought back up.)

Suga laughs at his expression. “No, we didn’t plan this, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just happen to know how he works, and what he would have spoken to you about. He probably told you not to get your hopes up, right?”

“If you know,” Shirabu starts, “Then why would you ask about it?”

“Because I’m curious,” Suga says simply. “And because I’m as nosy as he is. Now, I haven’t faced rejection the way Tooru-chan has, so my advice is to not listen to him. Take your own feelings into account. He worries for others because he’s a little more fragile and he took that rejection badly. You, I think, are more resilient.” The silver-haired man hands him some of the ice cream cups and picks up the remainder, tilting his head towards their table with a small smile. “Think on it. But for now, shall we?”

Shirabu follows him silently, turning over the words of both young men in his mind. It’s too much for an evening, especially when he had been expecting a quiet afternoon out. He’s getting tired of all the people lecturing him on things he does not want their advice on. He’s quiet as he picks at his ice cream, and only looks up when he feels something nudge his foot.

Semi raises his eyebrows at him, his eyes holding a question, but Shirabu shakes his head. _It’s nothing._

The ash blond raises an eyebrow to convey his disbelief, to which Shirabu rolls his eyes. _Don’t worry about me._

Semi shrugs and turns back to the conversation that the others are having, allowing Shirabu to push those thoughts aside and focus on the present.

He has plenty of time later to worry about their advice. For now, he is going to enjoy the company of those he is with.

\-----

They say their goodbyes at the station, parting to return to their respective accommodations. Shirabu is still rather quiet, but Semi chooses to say nothing. He had seen Oikawa and Suga speaking to him earlier, and figures he doesn’t need any more 'advice'.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

He turns to look at Shirabu, whose eyes are closed as he rests his head against the back of the seat. Semi sighs. “No. Should I be saying anything?”

“I figured you might want to add your two cents' worth, since Oikawa-san and Sugawara-san have already done so.”

Semi snorts. “Who am I to give you advice on your love life? Do what you like.”

One eye opens to regard him. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I don’t trust you on that, but I never trust you.” His eye closes, but Semi does not sense any ill intent coming from him.

“What do you mean, you don’t trust me?” Semi protests, half-jokingly.

“I mean, maybe you let something like _that_ slip again…” Shirabu opens his eyes, staring at him unapologetically. “I can’t think of any other reason why Oikawa-san and Sugawara-san would be so open about giving me 'advice’ like that.”

Semi blinks at him, first in confusion, then in anger. “Is that what you’re worried about? _Why_ they decided to give you advice?”

“It _is_ a cause for concern–”

“And you really think that I would do _that_ again? I said I wouldn’t, and I _haven’t_. Have you stopped to consider that they don’t mind talking about it because they don’t care about the gender of your partner? I get why you’d suspect I told them, but I swear I didn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t they care? It’s not a normal thing, is it?”

“I’m– What– No– Ugh.” Semi presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, groaning. “Why are you saying that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“Are you saying that whatever you or I feel for others is unnatural, then? That anyone else who is like us – who doesn’t fit society's norm – is not normal?”

“To them it is. To us, it’s perfectly fine.”

“Exactly.” Semi points at Shirabu accusingly. “So why are you so hung up on why Oikawa and Koushi decided to talk to you about it?”

“Well, I’m sorry that I don’t know if they are like us or not.” Shirabu snaps. “Is it a crime now to be on my guard?”

“No, but–”

“Let me deal with my life my own way,” Shirabu says viciously. “I was shocked that they could discuss something so openly, considering how most everyone isn’t so accepting. You can’t exactly look at someone and tell if they’re going to accept or condemn you, now, can you?”

Semi bites his words back, knowing he’s right. “No, but I _can_ tell you that Koushi and Oikawa aren’t the sort to condemn you for that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Semi chooses to ignore the sarcastic bite in Shirabu’s tone. “They – Koushi, at least – is very accepting and open. He wouldn’t judge you for your preferences. I don’t think Oikawa is the sort either. He’s an asshole but not a hypocrite.”

“Hypocrite?” Shirabu looks like he’s beginning to understand, but Semi decides to spell it out for him, just in case.

“Neither of them can judge you when they’re both dating men.”

The silence stretches as Shirabu stares at him. Finally, he says, “Are you sure you are allowed to tell me that?”

“They’re not subtle about it, they wouldn’t mind.” Semi says. “Iwaizumi and Koushi were the ones who told me who Oikawa is dating, so I can guess that he doesn’t care that others know who his partner is. Koushi enjoys flaunting his relationship, so he definitely won’t care that I told you.”

“Okay.” Shirabu’s expression is back to neutral. “And what am I supposed to do with this information?”

“Accept that they didn’t mean any harm by giving you advice.” Semi grits out. “Of course, whether or not it’s useful advice remains to be seen, considering both their natures.”

Shirabu snorts, rolling his eyes. “I know. It was sort of useful, I think.”

“…if you think so.”

They sit in awkward silence for some minutes, neither knowing what to say.

“You're really not going to bother me about it, then?”

Semi glances over, but Shirabu’s not looking at him, his gaze trained on the wall opposite them. He sighs. “No. You don’t need advice on what to do with your life. If you want to date Iwaizumi, go ahead. There is literally no reason that you need to tell me about your love life.”

“I never said I wanted to date Iwaizumi-san.”

“I said _if_ ,” Semi points out. “You’re practically admitting it, now.”

“I am _not_.”

“Are too. But like I said, it’s not my business. Whether you do or don’t date him, you don’t have to tell me.”

“…you don’t care?”

“Shirabu, exactly what don’t you understand about 'It's your life, do what you want’?”

“I didn’t think you’d be that approving of my dating someone. _If_ I was hypothetically dating someone.”

“I’m not your keeper!” Semi throws his hands up in exasperation. “Or your parent! Do whatever the heck you want! As long as you let me know when not to come back to the room and interrupt you or something, I don’t particularly care–”

“Don’t insinuate things, oh my _god_ –”

“You want to _date_ him, it’s bound to happen at some point–”

“Shut up, I never said that, and I’m nowhere near even confessing–”

“You just admitted you wanted to confess, so you _like_ him, at least–”

“Shut up, shut up, I don’t know how to do this, okay–”

“You’re not stupid, just _try harder_ , damnit–”

“You sound like Taichi, shut up–”

“Make me–”

The announcer’s voice comes on, interrupting their argument, and the train slows. Semi claps a hand over Shirabu’s mouth, cutting him off. “Argue later, it’s our stop.”

Shirabu slaps his hand away and follows him sullenly, hands in his pockets. The train station is quiet, though the streets back to the university are generously lit, the lights welcoming as they lead the way. There aren’t many people about because of the hour, and their pace is slow, unhurried.

There’s a sort of peace that surrounds them, tranquillity seeping through their skin, permeating their bones. It’s as if the serenity of the late hour is replacing the tension and weight of any other emotion, allowing them a space, a clear pool untouched by wandering thoughts. Shirabu basks in the rare bubble of tranquillity, feeling the last of the agitation from earlier slip off his shoulders.

His head tilts back, eyes lazily tracing the skyline, searching for stars that are unseen. It makes him smile a little, at the futility of his action. It’s been so long, and of course he knows that the stars are obscured, but he still can’t help looking. It reminds him of another time, almost too long ago – almost a year ago now.

(How time flies.)

“Semi-san.”

“Yeah?”

“Remember when we first met in Tokyo?”

“You mean how we first found out we had to live together?”

“Oh, yes. The horror.” Shirabu sounds so sarcastic that Semi has to crack a smile. “But I was thinking of the time after that, when we went out to find ice cream and yet never did.”

“We– Oh. Yeah, we did, didn’t we?” Semi tilts his head back; his turn now, at searching for lights in the starless sky. “We’ve had ice cream lots of times after that, though.”

“Yeah.” Shirabu is quiet as he thinks. “A lot of times.”

“Enough times that I know you never try any new flavours,” Semi teases. “I was actually surprised that you got flavoured ice cream today.”

“I like trying new things once in a while, geez.” Shirabu kicks at his heel, trying to trip him.

(He doesn’t succeed.)

“No, you don’t.”

“Shut up and let me do what I want.” Shirabu grumbles, and Semi laughs.

“You’ll always do whatever you want, regardless of what I say.”

“You’ve got a point.”

They shuffle along in companionable silence, growing closer and closer to the school, passing by familiar neighbourhoods to reach their destination. There’s a tug on his sleeve and Semi looks down, but Shirabu isn’t looking back at him.

“What is it?”

“Are you going to tell Kenma and Futakuchi?”

“About what?” He thinks he knows what.

Shirabu makes an annoyed sound. “What you saw today.”

“No?” Semi’s puzzled. “Why would I?”

“Because they’re dying to know who my 'mysterious friend' is? Don’t deny it, I know they’ve asked you about it.”

“Again: why would I do that?” Semi is perplexed. “Just because they’re being nosy doesn’t mean I have to indulge them.”

“But you were curious too.”

“So sue me for wondering if you were in bad company all the times that you went out and came home so late.” Semi throws his hands up in exasperation. He seems to be doing that a lot, lately. “It’s your life. I just want to know that I won’t have to wake up to an empty room and the cops at the door because you went missing!”

Shirabu stares at him for a second, then lets out a snort. “You are so dramatic.”

“I’m worried!”

“Yeah, yeah.” His steps slow as he turns to face Semi. “ _Were_ you following us on purpose?”

“You never give up, do you?”  Semi groans, raising a hand instinctively to block the punch Shirabu throws. “No, not at first.”

“Not _at first?”_

“Stop being so dramatic, geez. I was just telling Koushi the usual gossip he wanted to hear and the next thing I know, he’s called Oikawa and all the pieces have fallen into place like some miracle and we’re in the movie theatre.” Semi rolls his eyes. “I had no intention of following you, but Koushi dragged me into it.”

“Oh.” That shuts him up for a bit. “Sugawara-san is a lot sneakier than I gave him credit for.”

Semi laughs. “Oh, you have no idea. You should have heard the story of how he tricked Sawamura into confessing first. That was hilarious.”

“Sugawara-san did– What?”

Semi laughs harder at Shirabu’s stunned expression. “Koushi never lets Sawamura live it down. The story goes that Sawamura was stuttering and delaying it, and Koushi egged him on until he was half-dead with embarrassment.”

“…remind me never to get on Sugawara-san's bad side. Poor Sawamura-san.”

“Well, they’re very happy together, so I wouldn’t say that,” Semi hums. “I think Sawamura came to Tokyo with Koushi, so you can go witness their lovey-dovey stuff for yourself.”

“You want me to be a third wheel? No thanks.”

“Ask Iwaizumi to go with you.”

Shirabu makes a sound like a dying duck. “Then it’s going to look like a double date. No. No, no, no, I am not doing this–”

“For goodness’ sake, you like the guy, just ask him out!”

“It’s complicated!”

“Then uncomplicate it!”

“How!”

“I don’t know!”

They’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk, yelling at each other, and it suddenly occurs to Semi that they are too close to the residential areas to be making a racket, especially this late at night. His gaze darts about, and seeing no one, shushes Shirabu every time he tries to speak, dragging him along.

“We are trying not to be more of a public nuisance,” he hisses to the struggling brunet. “We probably woke up half the blocks with our yelling.”

“You started it,” Shirabu mumbles.

“No, you did.”

“No, it was you. Stop coming up with embarrassing ideas and I won’t have to yell!”

Semi shushes him again. “And if I don’t give you ideas, you’re never going to confess to him!”

“You’re not exactly the poster child for successful relationships, you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Semi winces, the memory of a certain redhead and another, broader figure coming to mind. “I know what _not_ to do, which is why I’m telling you what you _should_ do.”

“I will muddle my way through my own relationship mess, thank you very much. You and Taichi can keep your noses out of it.”

“I’m helping you here,” Semi says, exasperated. At this point, exasperation is going to be the only emotion he associates with Shirabu. “Ask Iwaizumi to show Koushi and Sawamura around Tokyo on my behalf because I’m busy or something. Only Koushi and you will ever know it’s a double date.”

“…you are more evil than I gave you credit for, Semi-san.”

“Blame Koushi. He’s rubbing off on me.”

They walk the rest of the way back to the dorms in silence. The quiet surrounding them is broken only by the sound of traffic, the scuffle of their shoes on the pavement, the slight whisper of the wind as it passes them by. Each is lost in his own thoughts, but soon they unite in action – pulling at the fabric that clings to their skin, shifting uncomfortably under the straps of their bags.

It is summer, and it is too hot to be in a city, where the lights add to the heat and the buildings never release their stored thermal energy fast enough. But somewhere in the midst of the cloying heat that melts brains, the duo seem to have come to a silent consensus, a remembrance of their truce – the shadow of a memory from times long past.

They trek back to their room, movements almost in sync, and it feels like they’ve found their own little glade of serenity – individualistic yet slightly interdependent. Slightly compromising, that they may coexist.

The night is warm, but they don’t want to turn on the air conditioning. They make do with the fan in their room, shuffling around until they sit comfortably before it, the wind rustling their shower-damp hair.

“Is it warm enough that we can sleep on the floor?” Shirabu asks, eyes closed in the face of the fan.

“We’re gonna catch colds.” Semi counters, but he is considering it.

“Just for one night. We can use the blankets to prevent a chill. Unless it gets too hot, then all bets are off.”

“Well…”

Shirabu leans over and stretches up to his bed, pulling his pillow and blanket down. The pillow is tossed near the fan, and he uses the blanket to cover the floor, much to Semi’s horror.

“The floor is dirty. You’re going to get sick.”

“I’ll do the laundry tomorrow. Do you want to sleep here or not?”

Semi groans quietly, but does not answer. He leans over to his bed and pulls his blanket off as well, making up his own nest on the floor.

It’s way too cramped on the floor for two young men, and they are almost elbow to elbow when they lie down, the fan oscillating, stirring currents above their heads. The lights from outside peek through the gaps in their blinds, playing out across the ceiling. Below the lights, wandering across the short expanse of flattened blankets, fingers shove against each other, pushing back and forth in a lazy war for dominance over the seam where their blankets meet.

One hand draws away first – there’s the sound of rustling fabric, and Semi turns his head to see that Shirabu has rolled over, resting now with his head on his folded hands.

“Semi-san?”

“Hm?”

“Maybe… Maybe we could go on that outing with Sawamura-san and Sugawara-san?”

“‘We’?”

Shirabu makes the dying duck sound. “I can’t ask Iwaizumi-san. Not yet. But I’d like to see Sawamura-san and Sugawara-san's relationship for myself, and since you’re friends with them…”

“I’m mostly friends with Koushi.”

“Still.” Shirabu makes a disgruntled sound. “Please?”

“Only if you do something for me.”

“What?”

“If Koushi tries to insinuate it’s a double date, you’ll help me push him into a fountain or something.”

Shirabu makes another dying duck sound. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, I’ll help you with that, no problem. Heaven forbid someone assumes that I’m dating _you_.”

Semi laughs. “Likewise. I’ll message Koushi tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Then there’s nothing but the sound of their breathing, but the sound of the fan and its whirring. It’s still warm, but not uncomfortably so, and Semi can feel himself drifting.

He doesn’t really register it when Shirabu calls him next, too lost in the realm of half-sleep. He doesn’t really register the soft touch on his arm, thinking it to be part of a dream. He doesn’t really register the extra warmth at his side nor the shuffling that comes with it, because he is almost completely asleep.

He sleeps on. It’s only later – in the middle of the night, when he’s suddenly a tad too warm – does he realise that the burning warmth in his arms, draped across his side – it smells hauntingly familiar; and the puffs of air on his neck – they may not be the fan, after all.

And maybe he’s a little confused, because even in the space between dreams and reality, he knows, he remembers their conversation, and he _knows_ where the affections of his roommate lie.

But he doesn’t let go, though he scoots away a little so that they might cool down. He doesn’t let go, not though he has one arm draped over the shoulders of this figure that he knows well, not though the fingers connected to that hand and arm are cupping a head, the strands of hair soft and pleasing under his fingertips. He doesn’t let go, but leans in – though he’s still half-asleep, still tangled in the tendrils of a dream – pressing his lips to the curve of skin covered by strands of wayward fringe. He thinks, at least, that this might be Shirabu’s forehead.

And as he inhales the scent of camellia and lye, his lips curve up into a smile. A guilty smile, a secret smile; a smile no one but himself and the night know about.

He drifts, and falls back to sleep.


End file.
